


Northern Comfort

by dsa_archivist



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), due South
Genre: Crossover, Drama, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-02
Updated: 1999-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A very unusual crossover.  This one is Due South & Hard Core Logo.  What happens when Billy Tallent and Benton Fraser collide when they're both at a low ebb.





	Northern Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Northern Comfort

 

This is all Andre's fault. There I was minding my own  
cyberbusiness when she asks me to smack her for thinking that a DS/HCL  
crossover might be workable, but since she was working on her Unnamed  
Opus she didn't want to be distracted. Well, darn her, the idea got  
into my head and took root like kudzu and. . . well. . . this is the  
result.  
  
This is a _Due South_ & _Hard Core Logo_ slash crossover (yes,  
I am unhinged). Benton Fraser belongs to Alliance/ Atlantis and Paul  
Haggis. Billy Tallent belongs to Michael Turner, Bruce McDonald, Noel  
S. Baker, and "Ed Festus Productions." Man, he really gets  
around, doesn't he? Rated NC-17 for explicit m/m  
sex, bad language, and angst. There are also references (not  
explicit) to non-consensual sex and abusive relationships so be warned.  
Also there are some _MAJOR RUIN-THE-ENDING-TYPE  
SPOILERS for Hard Core Logo,_ as well as some minor spoilers  
for the DS episode "Dr. Longball." Oh yeah, and I had to fudge  
the timeline a little, so assume this is an AU where HCL took place about  
a year later than it really did, and that the minor league season extends  
into October. And don't hit me.  
  
Soundtrack for this one: Hard Core Logo's 'Blue Tattoo,' Sarah McLachlan's  
'Mary' and 'Angel,' Luka Bloom's 'Cold Comfort,' Tara MacLean's 'Evidence,'  
Paul Brady's 'Help Me To Believe,' and last but certainly not least,  
Bruce Cockburn's 'The Whole Night Sky.'  
  
Thanks to Audra, Andreshan, LaToot and Meghan for beta!

�Kellie

  
  


* * *

  
****

  
Northern Comfort  
c. 1999, Kellie Matthews  


        Benton Fraser sat at  
the Consulate reception desk, processing a stack of immigration applications  
in the glow of the banker's lamp, feeling depressed, and alone. Of course,  
he was alone, since it was after hours and save for himself, the Consulate  
was empty. But that wasn't why he felt alone. Ray had been gone only  
a few hours, yet he felt as if it had been weeks. He knew why, of course.  
It was because Ray had gone on a vacation without him. More than that,  
had gone with a woman. It shouldn't hurt. He knew better. He and Ray  
did not have that sort of relationship. Never would. Ray was solidly,  
undeniably heterosexual, and this trip only served to underscore that.  
        Unfortunately reality  
rarely played a role in fantasy, and somewhere deep inside Ben had felt  
that Ray was beginning to respond to him as more than just a partner.  
Since the incident with the stolen gold bullion, their interactions had  
grown increasingly intimate; they spent most of their time, even free  
time, together. Of late there had seemed to be something, a spark between  
them which was almost sexual in its intensity. Then Ray had, with odd  
reticence, announced that he was going on vacation, to Acapulco, with  
someone named Laura, whom he'd never even mentioned before, and Ben's  
fantasy had come crashing down around him like a glacier calving.  
        Somehow Ben had managed  
to hide his hurt behind a blandly congratulatory remark, and had worked  
hard not to spoil Ray's vacation by behaving pettily. It had been difficult,  
but he thought he'd managed it. No matter his own feelings, Ray deserved  
happiness. He was a good man, a good partner. Would have been a wonderful  
lov . . . . A knock at the door interrupted that thought. Probably just  
as well. He oughtn't be thinking things like that. It was futile and  
only made him feel worse.  
        A  
glance at his watch told him it was after ten, an odd time for anyone  
to be calling at the Consulate. At least, with Ray out of town it was.  
Ray occasionally showed up at even odder times, and would probably have  
let himself in using a credit card at any rate. Fraser thought for a  
moment about going to get his tunic from his office, but since it was  
probably Turnbull having forgotten something, including his key, there  
was no reason to be formal. He got up, crossed the foyer and opened  
the door to find the caller walking away, down the stairs. A tallish,  
slender man in a flannel shirt and jeans, with spiked blonde hair, holding  
some sort of case in his right hand. Ben's heart sped up.  
        "Ray!"  
he exclaimed, pleased.  
        The  
man turned, startled, no trace of recognition in his gaze. Fraser stared.  
It wasn't Ray, but . . . it was. The visitor was alike enough to be  
Ray's twin, yet he was sure he'd never seen this man in his life.  
        "Excuse me?"  
the man asked.  
        "I'm sorry, I  
thought you were someone else. Can I help you?"  
        The  
man's gaze flickered down, back up again, and he flashed a quick grin.  
"Interesting pants there. You a Mountie?"  
        Fraser  
was a little surprised. So few people here in the United States recognized  
even the full uniform, much less just the trousers. He nodded. "Yes,  
I am."  
        "Thought  
so." The visitor nodded toward the door. "Didn't think anybody  
was at home. Thought someone just left a light on, I mean, it is after  
hours." His voice was a little rougher than Ray's, the accent and  
phrasing subtly different.  
        "I  
was working a bit late. Is there something I can do for you?"  
        "Hope so. I'm kinda  
stuck. Got here for a gig, but it's been canceled. Somebody forgot  
to call and tell the new guy." He jerked a thumb toward his chest,  
apparently indicating that he was the 'new guy', then shrugged and flashed  
a smile that was half wince. "Different band, same old story."  
        He stepped forward  
a little, into the glow cast by the security light, and Fraser could  
see that there was dirt on his face, or was that a bruise? His eyes  
narrowed, realizing that there were several bruises, and scrapes as well.  
Actually, now that Ben could see him better, he realized the man looked  
as if he'd been rolling on the ground. He frowned.  
        "Are  
you injured?"  
        "Nah,  
had worse," the man said, shrugging again, then he held up the case  
in his hand and grinned. "At least they didn't get my livelihood."  
        Fraser could see now  
that it was a guitar case. He was beginning to wonder if the man was  
ever going to come to the point, but he held his irritation back, realizing  
he was responding as if this was Ray, not a complete stranger. He wondered  
if his tendency to be irritable with Ray was part of what had prompted  
him to go on vacation with that 'Laura' person. He ought to have better  
control over himself, it wasn't Ray's fault he was attracted to him.  
        "They?" he  
prompted gently.  
        The  
man sighed, slumping a little. He looked tired, drawn even. "Yeah.  
Got rolled for my wallet. They got my passport, too. That's why I'm  
here."  
        The light  
dawned. "You're a Canadian citizen?" That would explain why  
he recognized the uniform.  
        The  
smile came back, slightly shy, as he nodded. "Vancouver, B.C.  
You? I'd guess the Territories."  
        That  
startled him. How on earth had the man guessed that? It wasn't as if  
his birthplace was written on his forehead. Fraser blocked out his surprise,  
and concentrated on the task at hand. "You were robbed?"  
        The other man nodded.  
"Dumb, right? You'd think I didn't live in cities most of my life.  
Walking around like a goddamned tourist, forgetting to watch myself."  
        "One shouldn't have  
to 'watch' oneself all the time. As for the lost passport, I'm sure  
I can assist you with that problem. Please come in and I'll get started  
on that immediately. Did you notify the police?"  
        His  
guest nodded. "Yeah, they're the ones who told me there might be  
somebody home here, even though it was after hours." He grinned.  
"Guess they were right. Maybe my luck's changing." He shifted  
the guitar case a little, and put a foot on the first step, tried to  
take the second one, and his left knee buckled as he put weight on it.  
He gave a strangled little gasp, and almost dropped the guitar, and Fraser  
saw pain flash across his face as his knee hit the step.  
        "You  
 _are_ hurt!" he exclaimed, taking the guitar and putting an  
arm around the other man's waist to assist him to his feet. Good lord,  
he was thin! Thinner even than Ray. He could distinctly feel ribs under  
his palm, through the man's clothing. His protective instincts stirred.  
"Please, come inside."  
        The  
man nodded and leaned on him, limping, as Fraser steered him into the  
parlor and seated him in the big wingback chair, then stepped back.  
        "Constable Benton  
Fraser, RCMP," he said, extending a hand.  
        "Billy  
Tallent, sometime guitarist for mediocre bands," the blond man returned.  
        "Pleased to meet  
you, Mr. Tallent."  
        The  
man laughed. "Just Billy. 'Mr. Tallent' sounds like something  
off a bad sitcom."  
        Fraser  
nodded, and they shook hands. Billy's hands, like the rest of him, seemed  
eerily like Ray's. Long fingers, elegantly recurved thumbs, narrow palms.  
Like Ray, he wore a bracelet around one bony wrist. Unlike Ray, he also  
wore a heavy silver ring on one thumb, and a lighter band on one forefinger.  
To Fraser's astonishment, the man didn't let go of his hand immediately.  
He turned it over in his own, traced a finger across his fingertips,  
then he finally let go and looked up.  
        "You  
play?"  
        Ah.  
He must have felt the calluses. Fraser nodded, embarrassed. "Only  
for my own edification."  
        Billy  
looked him straight in the eyes and snorted rudely. "Fuck that  
shit. You play 'cause you love it."  
        Pinned  
by that clear blue gaze, Fraser felt himself coloring, and cleared his  
throat, annoyed with himself. Many, if not most people cursed, he shouldn't  
be so sensitive. "I do enjoy it, yes."  
        Billy  
dropped his gaze, and nodded. "That's the best way to be. Don't  
ever do something you love for a living."  
        There  
was something profound in that statement, Fraser decided. And there  
was something haunted in the other man's eyes. He studied the thin,  
slouched figure for a moment. It was hard to tell what was scrape, what  
was bruise, and what was dirt. Though there was a bloodstain on the  
knee of his jeans which explained why he'd fallen outside. He probably  
wasn't injured badly enough to need a physician or the police would have  
taken him to the hospital, but he did need cleaning up.  
        "Wait  
here, I'll be back in a moment."  
        Billy  
nodded wearily. "Not going anywhere."  
        Fraser  
retrieved a pen and paper from the desk. "If you'll just write  
down the correct spelling of your name and your social insurance number,  
I'll get started on that replacement passport for you as well."  
        "Thanks. Appreciate  
it, since it's after hours and all. But if you'll hand me my guitar  
case, I can do better than that," Billy said. Fraser got it for  
him, and the other man unfastened the case and slipped his long fingers  
beneath the neck of the instrument, tugging out a piece of paper, which  
he handed to Fraser. It was a photocopy of the first two pages of his  
passport. He grinned. "Lost it once before. Now I always carry  
a copy somewhere else. That work for you?"  
        "Yes,  
this will be very helpful," Fraser said, then he glanced at the  
paper, and frowned. "I thought you said your name was Tallent."  
        "That's my stage  
name, Boisy's the one I was born with."  
        "Ah,"  
he said, reassured by that. "If you haven't yet called your bank  
card issuers to report the theft, you should do so now," Fraser  
said, nodding toward the phone on the small table next to the chair.  
"We've discovered that asking for the replacement cards to be delivered  
here to the Consulate often expedites the request." He handed Billy  
the sheet of Consulate letterhead he held. "Here's the address  
and phone number."  
        "Thanks.  
Good idea." Billy dug in his guitar case for something else, pulled  
out a ragged, much-folded piece of paper and started unfolding it.  
        Fraser assumed that it  
contained bank-card information, and left the room, going first to his  
office where he took a moment at his computer to send off an information  
request on William Boisy. That done, he got out his sweatpants to loan  
the other man, and retrieved the first aid kit, a towel, and a washcloth  
from the storage closet. Returning to the parlor, he stood in the doorway  
for a moment, wondering what strange synchronicity had brought this man  
to his very door. The universe was sometimes a very odd place.  
        "I'd like to see  
to those injuries," he said quietly.  
        Billy  
jumped a little, eyelids snapping open. He must have been dozing. He  
glanced at what Fraser held in his hands, and looked embarrassed.  
        "Look, I'm a big  
boy now, I can do it."  
        Fraser  
put on his stubborn face. "I've had some EMT training, I think  
it would be best if I looked after you."  
        The  
blond looked uncomfortable, then he sighed and shrugged. "Okay,  
whatever. But can I wash up first?"  
        "Certainly,  
and since I suspect it won't be possible for me to attend to your knee  
without doing damage to your trousers, you may wish to change into these."  
Fraser held the sweatpants up for inspection. "The washroom is  
there." He nodded toward the door.  
        The  
other man started to push himself awkwardly out of the chair. Fraser  
held out a hand, and Billy took it, allowing the larger man to pull him  
carefully to his feet. The Mountie followed as he limped across the  
floor to the washroom, and once he was there handed him the sweatpants,  
towel, and washcloth.  
        "Thanks,  
man." Billy said, closing the door.  
        His  
slow, awkward movements reminded Ben of Ray's, after he'd been 'sparring',  
and he suspected the guitarist was in considerable pain, but determined  
not to show it. He waited patiently while he heard the sound of the  
toilet being flushed, water running, and various rustling noises and  
low-voiced curses that seemed to indicate the man was having some trouble  
undressing. Finally the door opened, and Billy hobbled out, barefoot  
now, wearing Fraser's sweatpants and his own t-shirt, holding his jeans  
and boots. He looked even paler and more tired than before.  
        "Got  
to buy some looser jeans," he commented wryly, confirming Fraser's  
suspicion that he'd had difficulty in disrobing. He sat down carefully,  
left leg extended in front of him. "Man, I'm too old for this shit,"  
he said with a sigh.  
        Ben  
wondered exactly what 'shit' he meant, but couldn't think of a way to  
ask that wouldn't involve using the word, so instead he crouched at Billy's  
feet and started to ease the left pantleg upward until he had the soft  
fleece pushed well above his knee, which was swollen, and purple, and  
bore a bad cut across the patella. He tsked, shaking his head, opening  
an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit  
        "This  
will hurt."  
        "Can't  
hurt much worse," Billy said drily. "Go on."  
        Fraser  
gently swiped the pad across the cut, heard the hiss of an indrawn breath  
as the sting hit. There didn't appear to be any dirt or gravel in the  
wound, so he applied antibiotic ointment, and taped a non-stick gauze  
pad over it. "I'm going to wrap it, to reduce the swelling,"  
he said, just to break the silence. "And I'll get you some ice  
for it in a bit." He carefully wound an elastic bandage around  
the joint, not so tight as to impede circulation, while still snug enough  
to provide a modicum of support for the injured tissues. That done,  
he eased the pantleg back down. "There. That's done, now I'll  
attend to those scrapes on your face."  
        Billy  
rolled his eyes. "Don't bother. Some people would probably say  
they improve the view."  
        Fraser  
was taken aback by that statement. "Why on earth would someone  
say that?"  
        Billy  
laughed, then he looked at Fraser, and an odd expression came over his  
face. He frowned. "You really meant that, didn't you?"  
        "I never say things  
I don't mean," Ben said, a little offended.  
        Billy  
laughed softly. "Then you're one in a million, Constable Fraser.  
Do people call you Ben?"  
        "Rarely,"  
Fraser said, perfectly honest. "Most people just call me Fraser."  
        "Hunh," Billy  
said, eyeing him. "Yeah. I can see why."  
        Ben  
frowned. He'd never really known why that was, himself, and here this  
stranger was presuming to think he knew? "And that would be?"  
        The eyes fell, lifted,  
assessingly, then Billy shrugged. "Well, you're a pretty formal  
guy. I can tell that just from looking at you. I bet most people'd feel  
weird calling you by anything other than a title. Me, I'm just the opposite.  
People I don't even know call me Billy. Pretty fucking pathetic, for  
a man my age."  
        Ben  
forced himself to ignore the profanity. It was becoming clear to him  
that this man was hurting, in an entirely non-physical way, though there  
was that as well.  
        "What  
would you prefer to be called?" Fraser asked him, wanting to give  
aid, somehow, to the mental agony as well as the physical.  
        The  
haunted eyes shifted briefly to his, then away, and Billy made a wry  
face. "That's just it. I've been Billy so long I don't know anything  
else, so Billy I stay. But thanks for asking. You're a nice guy, B.  
. . I mean, Fraser."  
        "You  
can call me Ben," Fraser said, surprising himself.  
        Apparently  
he surprised Billy, too, for there was a flicker of something across  
his face, a slight glow of pleasure, and he nodded. "Will do."  
        "I'd still like  
to treat those scrapes," Fraser said, not knowing what else to say.  
He felt oddly awkward around this man.  
        Billy  
looked at him, eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement. "Yeah, yeah.  
I get it. You were a Boy Scout, weren't you?"  
        "You  
have a remarkable facility for character analysis," Ben said, disconcerted.  
"Speaking of which, how did you know I was from the Territories?"  
        Billy chuckled. "You've  
got that self-sufficient thing going. And the polite thing. Figured  
you weren't from anyplace where you got much exposure to city shit."  
        "Ah. Well, excellent  
deductions. Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?"  
        That earned a full-out  
laugh, Billy pressing a hand against his ribs as if they hurt him. "Oh  
fuck, no! And they wouldn't have me. I'm a juvie, all the way, Ben.  
But thanks for the compliment." He leaned back in the chair, tilting  
his head back a little, closing his eyes. "Okay, fix me up and  
earn your merit badge. Just don't use that red stuff, okay? I don't  
want to look like a clown."  
        For  
some reason Fraser found himself disappointed when Billy closed his eyes.  
They were so incredibly lucent . . . good God! Fraser felt himself blushing,  
and cracked his neck. Just because he looked like Ray was no reason  
to go mooning over him like a lovesick teenager.  
        "Actually,  
iodine has been shown to retard the healing process. I have a salve  
which works much better," he said blandly, to cover his discomfort.  
        He opened a fresh  
alcohol pad and leaned in to dab at the scrapes. Now that he was close,  
Fraser could see that although some of the bruises and scrapes on Billy's  
face were recent, there were others, older, nearly faded. And there  
was a faint scar-like mark on his lower lip, as if it had been split.  
Dragging his gaze away from that beautifully modeled mouth, he mentally  
shook himself again. He had to get himself in hand.  
        "Were  
you in another fight recently?" he asked, incurably curious.  
        The blue eyes flashed  
open, and the pain in them was depthless. "No."  
        "Ah,"  
Fraser said, confused, and disconcerted by the emotion revealed there.  
"I just thought, well, some of these bruises appear to be older  
than the others."  
        Eyes  
closed again. "Yeah. A week and a day now. Just eight days.  
But it wasn't a fight. Not really. I didn't know. Didn't understand.  
My fault. I should've told him. God. Oh, god." The rough, smoky  
voice broke, and the man curled over, burying his face in his hands,  
weeping as if his heart were broken.  
        Fraser  
hovered over him, distressed by his pain, wanting to help, not knowing  
how. After a moment he awkwardly reached down, put a hand on one bony  
shoulder, then hesitantly put his other hand on the other shoulder, and  
drew the other man to him, holding him gently as he sobbed. As if it  
were not at all unusual, the other man's arms slid around his waist,  
and he hid his face against Fraser's's stomach. Fraser could feel the  
heat and wetness of tears as they soaked into his undershirt. He didn't  
pull back, though a disapproving voice within him told him he should,  
and after a moment he found himself gently stroking the spiky hair, finding  
it surprisingly soft to his hand, though a trifle 'crunchy' from the  
styling products used to produce that look. The storm lasted only a short  
while, and then the other man seemed to startle, realizing he was weeping  
in the arms of a stranger, and he drew back, covering his face with one  
long-fingered hand.  
        "Christ!  
Sorry, you must think I'm a fucking headcase."  
        "I  
think you're a man in a great deal of pain, but you seem perfectly sane  
to me."  
        The  
hand didn't move, but he saw the corners of Billy's mouth twitch in a  
stillborn smile. After a moment he wiped his eyes, and lowered his hand,  
looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. "So, is dealing with fucked-up  
semi-hysterical guitarists usually in your job description?"  
        "My job description  
has never been any too well-defined. I'm sure I could find justification  
for nearly anything within it." Fraser paused a moment, gathering  
his resolve, then forged on. "Would you like to talk?"  
        Billy's eyes focused  
on something a long way away. He drew in a deep breath, let it out in  
deeper sigh, and fidgeted with his shirt pocket, then looked up. "Don't  
suppose you have any cigarettes? Smoked my last one at the station, couldn't  
afford more."  
        "No,  
I'm sorry, I don't smoke."  
        The  
corners of Billy's mouth lifted. "Figured as much. Bet you don't  
drink, either."  
        "That  
would be correct," Fraser admitted, feeling somewhat sheepish, though  
it really wasn't that unusual.  
        Billy  
snorted, eyeing him with a grin. "Okay, you've got to have some  
kind of bad habit. Please tell me you hump like a mink, or haunt strip  
joints or something."  
        Fraser  
blushed, and Billy groaned. "Christ, the man's a fucking saint!  
Jesus, Ben! What do you do for fun?"  
        Fraser  
thought about that. He supposed his diversions would seem a little tame  
to someone like Billy. "Well, I read, I walk, sometimes I listen  
to music, or play guitar. Sometimes I go out with my friend."  
        Those luminous eyes pinned  
him. "Friend? Singular?"  
        Fraser  
felt a momentary sense of emptiness so strong it was actually painful.  
A hole in himself that seemed as if it would never be filled. He closed  
his eyes, trying to force it to abate before it showed.  
        "Sorry,  
it's none of my business. I'm being an asshole, you should tell me to  
fuck off."  
        Billy's  
voice was apologetic, and despite the off-color language, the gentleness  
of it made the lump in Fraser's throat swell, so he shook his head to  
let the other man know he wouldn't do that.  
        "Lemme  
guess, you don't swear either?"  
        The  
warm amusement in the other man's tone, not mocking, but rather oddly  
inclusive, almost undid Fraser completely. He turned away to hide his  
lack of control, and a moment later felt a hand on his shoulder.  
        "Hey, look, I snotted  
up your shirt, only fair you get to do mine." Billy paused a moment,  
then spoke again. "Um, something happen? You and your friend have  
a fight?"  
        Ben  
shook his head again, not trusting his voice, resisting the almost overwhelming  
urge to take Billy up on his offer of comfort. For some reason the fact  
that he was a complete and utter stranger made it seem all right. Why  
was it he could allow his feelings to show with someone he would likely  
never see again after he left the Consulate, but could never reveal them  
to those closest to him?  
        "Tell  
you what, I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Billy said in  
a sly, cajoling tone.  
        Fraser  
snapped around to stare at the other man in shock.  
        Billy  
grinned back at him. "Ha! Gotcha. I just meant maybe we could  
sort of trade stories, and you can think of things to say to make me  
feel better and I'll do the same for you. You look like you got your  
share of problems yourself. Too bad you don't drink. Getting drunk makes  
it so it doesn't hurt to talk."  
        Now  
that was an argument in favor of drinking. The only one he'd ever heard  
that tempted him in the slightest, but having seen in others that once  
the alcohol wore off things always seemed to be as bad or worse, Fraser  
shook his head, and cleared his throat. "I realize it's not precisely  
in the same league, but my grandmother swore by a cup of tea," he  
offered.  
        There was  
a moment of silence, then Billy laughed softly. "So did mine.  
Sounds good."

* * *  


  
        They sat in the Consulate  
kitchen, drinking tea, eating the peanut-butter sandwiches Ben had made  
after realizing Billy was hungry, and talking. Ben learned rather more  
about touring punk-rock bands than he'd ever had any desire to know,  
but it was interesting to have a glimpse into that world. Something  
else to add to his store of knowledge. Fraser gently kept drawing Billy  
out, knowing he hadn't yet come to the source of the pain that was written  
so clearly in his gaze. He resisted the other man's attempts to get  
him to talk. Focusing on someone else's problems helped him avoid his  
own. He was perfectly aware that was what he was doing, and, strangely,  
he suspected that Billy was aware of it as well, judging by the shrewd,  
searching glances he surprised on occasion when Billy thought he wasn't  
paying attention.  
        Fraser  
excused himself and went to his office to check on a response on his  
query. There was one, so he returned to the kitchen, and found that  
Diefenbaker had deigned to come out from wherever he'd been sulking since  
Fraser had refused to get him an ice-cream when the vending truck passed,  
and was sitting at Billy's side with his head on the man's thigh, looking  
quite revoltingly blissful as Billy absently massaged his ears and ruff.  
Billy looked up as Fraser entered the room, and smiled.  
        "Nice  
dog. Yours?"  
        "Actually,  
Diefenbaker is half wolf, and as for whether he's mine, well, I suppose  
he is, in a manner of speaking. He's certainly my responsibility, though  
it's his choice whether or not he remains here. I sometimes believe  
chooses to stay with me simply so he can live in Chicago and eat junk  
food instead of having to hunt and fend for himself in the wild. And  
he shouldn't be harassing you like that."  
        Billy  
looked at the wolf in his lap, and grinned. "He's okay, so long  
as he doesn't have a thing for sausages."  
        The  
sentence was accompanied by a wink, and Fraser had to think for a moment  
to understand, then he dropped his eyes to the paper he held, a little  
rattled by the other man's easy, bawdy humor. "I received that  
reply from Ottawa, so if you'll come back to my office I'll get started  
on your paperwork."  
        Billy  
nodded, gently nudged Dief's head off his leg with his elbow, and stood,  
to limp behind Fraser out to his office, carrying his mug of tea. Fraser  
took his place at the typewriter, and Billy settled gingerly onto the  
other chair.  
        "Birth  
date?"  
        "October  
twenty-fourth, nineteen-sixty."  
        Fraser  
looked at the passport copy to confirm that, then looked back at Billy,  
startled. He would have sworn the other man was younger than that.  
That made them closer in age than he'd imagined.  
        Billy  
looked back at him, eyebrows lifted. "Did I get it wrong?"  
he asked, one corner of his mouth quirking upward in an uncertain smile.  
        "No, no sorry.  
That's quite correct. Mother's maiden name?"  
        "Anne  
Mary Machlis."  
        Fraser  
typed, then looked up. "Car theft?"  
        Billy  
blinked at him for a moment, looking puzzled, then he slowly started  
to smile. "Told you I was a juvie. Regular little asshole, 'til  
I met Joe . . . " his smile faded, and a shudder went through him.  
He closed his eyes, and quickly brought up his mug to take a drink.  
        There it was, Fraser  
thought. The pain. It must somehow be related to this 'Joe' person.  
If he'd put Billy on the straight-and-narrow, he must have been a good  
person. "Was Joe a social worker?"  
        Billy  
choked on his tea, and for a few seconds Fraser thought he was going  
to have to Heimlich the man. Finally he managed to breathe, wiped his  
eyes, and came up laughing.  
        "Jesus.  
That's a good one. He'd've loved that. No, Joe Dick was an asshole  
too. He and I, we started the band, and that kept us outta trouble.  
Well, mostly." The smile evaporated again, and he sighed. "God-fucking-damn  
him. Why'd he have to . . ." Billy's eyes filled with tears once  
more, and he carefully placed his mug on the desk. "Sorry. Got  
to use the john." He got up and left the room.  
        Fraser  
waited a moment, staring after him thoughtfully, then he moved over to  
the computer, pulled up web-browser window, and typed in a query. A  
few moments later it returned several hits, and he pulled up the first  
one. It was from an Edmonton paper, a story and obituary on one Joseph  
Mulgrew, aka Joe Dick, former lead singer for a band called Hard Core  
Logo, who had apparently died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound eight  
days earlier. The pieces fit.  
        He  
accessed the second hit; a concert review which read more like a play-by-play  
of a boxing match. The last paragraph in the story mentioned the suicide.  
It had happened that same night. He tried to imagine how he would have  
felt had Ray died after that fight at the shipyard, before they had resolved  
their anger, their hurt. He shuddered. God. No wonder Billy was hurting.  
He heard the toilet flush distantly, and quickly closed the browser.  
Let him come to it in his own time. Don't force it.  
        By  
the time Billy had limped back into the room, Fraser had completed the  
duplicate passport request and faxed both the photocopied passport and  
the replacement request to Ottawa. They would courier the new passport  
back to the Consulate next day. He turned to find Billy standing in  
the doorway watching him, tiny beads of moisture clinging to his hairline,  
betraying the fact that he'd splashed cold water on his face, trying  
to keep control. How familiar that was. His expression was carefully  
neutral now. Having seen how animated and expressive he normally was,  
it seemed alien to Fraser that he could be so still.  
        "Look,  
I've been here too long. I need to let you go home. It's late."  
        "Actually, this  
is 'home,'" Ben admitted, with a slight nod toward the cot behind  
the desk.  
        Billy's  
eyes widened. "Christ, they make you sleep here?" he exclaimed  
in appalled tones. "Isn't that kind of like slavery?"  
        "Oh, no. It's purely  
voluntary. After my apartment building was incinerated by a performance  
arsonist, I just found it more convenient to stay here."  
        "A  
performance arsonist?" Billy asked, bemusedly. "Now there's  
one we never thought of. But anyway,  
if you could just let me use  
the phone to call a hotel and a cab, I'll get out of your hair. Uh,  
and if I could maybe hit you up for that emergency cash you mentioned,  
so I can actually pay for the hotel and the cab." He smiled wryly.  
"Feels weird, hitting you up for money."  
        "You're  
not. You're making a perfectly reasonable request of a consular official.  
We keep funds on hand here for this very reason. You aren't the first  
person to need to replace stolen funds, nor, I'm sure, will you be the  
last."  
        "Oh.  
Well, that's different then."  
        Fraser  
nodded. "Quite. Wait here, I'll get the cash and the documents  
you'll need to sign for it."  
        Billy  
nodded, and settled carefully back on his chair. His face went back  
to being expressionless, and Ben stifled a sigh as he left the room.  
It was clear that for some reason the other man had decided not to speak  
any further of his pain. Apparently tea was simply not conducive to  
heart-to-heart conversations. Perhaps he should have gotten a bottle  
of Scotch from the Consulate's liquor supply. He went into the Inspector's  
office and found the documents he needed, opened the safe and removed  
seven fifty-dollar US bills, and then relocked it.  
        Fraser  
wished he could think of some way to get Billy to stay, to talk longer,  
to get to the heart of his pain. As a peace officer trained in suicide  
prevention he knew that a person who had been close to a suicide was  
actually far more likely to make such an attempt himself than someone  
who had never known that kind of tragedy. Logically it would seem that  
the opposite should be true, but it was not. The feelings of loss and  
guilt could be overwhelming, and he strongly suspected that was the emotional  
state Billy currently inhabited. Frankly, Ben was afraid for him. For  
a moment he considered withholding the money, or finding some legal way  
to keep Billy confined to the Consulate, but had no documentable reason  
to do so. Billy's legal offenses had occurred long ago, and had no outstanding  
warrants or judgements. No. There was simply nothing he could do.  
        Feeling even more  
dispirited than he had earlier that evening, he walked back to his office.  
Billy was just putting down the phone and closing the phone book as Ben  
entered the room. Probably making a hotel reservation, or calling a  
cab, as he'd said he was going to. When he looked up, his eyes were  
dark and haunted. Fraser resisted the urge to reach out and hold the  
man again. Circumstances would not allow it now. He forced a pleasant  
expression to his face, and placed two documents on the desk in front  
of the other man.  
        "Here  
you are. As it will likely take a day or two for your credit and bank  
cards to be reissued, I've taken the liberty of drawing three-hundred  
and fifty dollars for you in US funds. If you'll sign the receipt and  
the note of hand for it, it's yours."  
        Billy  
looked startled. "Hey, I don't need that much. Shit, that'd last  
me a week, at least."  
        "You  
can always return whatever you don't use when you repay the rest. Travel  
can often be more expensive than one expects."  
        Billy  
chuckled wryly. "Yeah, especially when your best friend lets Thelma  
and Louise fuck off with all your cash . . . " Pain suddenly tightened  
his features, and he shook his head. "Christ, let it go, asshole.  
Let it go," he said, clearly talking to himself, not Fraser.  
        "Let what go?"  
Ben asked gently, hoping it might prompt him to begin talking again.  
        "Never mind. It's  
nothing." Billy leaned forward and scrawled his signature on both  
documents. "There. My cab will be here in a couple of minutes."  
He pushed himself to his feet, and looked down. "Guess I better  
go put my own pants back on."  
        "I  
don't need those at the moment, why don't you keep them until you come  
back to retrieve your new bank-cards? With your injured knee, your jeans  
may be difficult to get into."  
        Billy  
looked up, startled, fingering the fleece on his thigh. "These  
are yours?"  
        Fraser  
nodded. Billy had an odd look on his face. "Oh, um, I just figured  
they were loaners you kept around here for tourists dumb enough to get  
mugged. Thanks, that's really nice of you. I'll make sure they get  
washed before I bring them back."  
        "Don't  
worry about that, I'm just happy to have been able to help. " He  
wished he could do more to help, but apparently that wasn't fated.  
        Billy went back to the  
parlor and put his boots back on. Looking down at himself, he grinned.  
"Man, I look like a fucking geek. Sweats and boots. All I need  
is a watch-cap and mitts, and I could pass for homeless. Which I would  
be tonight, if not for you. I really do appreciate everything, you've  
been cool, Ben."  
        He  
held out a hand, Ben took it, and they shook hands a little awkwardly.  
        "Again, I'm happy  
to have been of assistance. And it's been a pleasure meeting you."  
        Billy made that rude  
snorting noise again. "Oh yeah. I'm a fucking barrel of laughs."  
Without waiting for Fraser to reply, he picked up his jeans and guitar  
case and headed for the front door.  
        Ben  
followed to wait with him. "Where will you be staying?" he  
asked, somehow unable not to.  
        "Dunno.  
Wherever the cab driver takes me, I guess."  
        Fraser  
frowned. That lack of destination bothered him. "If I may make  
a suggestion, there's a moderately priced motel not far from here. It's  
not luxurious, but serviceable. I can give the driver directions if  
you like."  
        "Serviceable  
works. I'm not picky."  
        Ben  
heard a car pull up outside, and opened the door, revealing a Yellow  
cab waiting at the curb. "Your ride. I'll carry your guitar, and  
you should take my arm down the stairs."  
        "Ben,  
I'm a little banged up, not crippled."  
        "As  
you say, however, you did have trouble getting up the stairs earlier,  
and going down them puts as much stress on the joint as coming up them  
does, so I suggest. . . "  
        "Yeah,  
yeah, I know, I know. You want another merit badge. Fine. I'll just  
pretend I'm a little old lady and you can help me cross the street.  
Sure you don't want to just carry me?" he asked, with a wink and  
a lightning-fast grin.  
        For  
a moment Fraser was seriously tempted to do so, just to see the expression  
on Billy's face, but he restrained himself and picked up the guitar instead.  
Billy put a hand on his arm, leaning a little as they descended the stairs.  
He opened the door of the cab and carefully placed the guitar inside,  
then turned to give directions to the driver before straightening. Billy  
was looking at him intently.  
        "Look,  
if you ever need anything, I'm there. I mean it."  
        Fraser  
nodded, knowing he did; knowing he would never take advantage of it,  
either. "Good night then," he said, still wishing he could  
have thought of some reason to detain the other man, feeling almost despairing  
that he could not.  
        "'Night."  
Billy took a step toward the cab, then stopped and looked at Fraser again,  
his face tense and pale. "Christ! I can _not_ do this. Look,  
I know I'm the world's biggest pussy for asking this, but I . . . I just  
can't handle being alone. I just need someone to keep me from thinking  
about . . . things. Do you think you could come with me? Talk some  
more?"  
        Profound  
relief swept through Ben, and he nodded instantly. "Certainly.  
Just give me a moment to close up." He gestured toward the Consulate.  
        Billy nodded. "No  
problem, we'll wait. The driver won't mind a few extra bucks, and I'll  
get him to put the guitar up front."  
        Fraser  
stepped back into the building and shut down the computer in his office,  
then realized he was still half in uniform. He couldn't go out like  
that. He shook his head, and removed his boots and jodhpurs as quickly  
as he could, and pulled on a pair of jeans instead, then shoved his feet  
into his hiking boots and yanked the shorter laces into place. Dief  
stood up then, looking up at him expectantly and he hesitated, then shook  
his head.  
        "I'm  
sorry, Dief. I'll be back later, but first I need to make sure he's  
all right. I would take you, but most lodging facilities don't allow  
animals."  
        Dief  
settled back down with a soft whine.  
        "Thank  
you, I do appreciate your understanding."  
        Shrugging  
into his jacket, Fraser grabbed his hat, shut off the lights, and locked  
and closed the door behind him. Billy was still standing next to the  
cab, and an expression of relief flashed across his face as he saw Fraser  
emerge.  
        "Thought  
maybe you changed your mind," he said softly.  
        "Actually,  
I changed my clothes," Ben swept a hand toward his jeans, and Billy's  
gaze followed.  
        "Right,  
no more funny pants," he said, grinning. "You get in first,  
that way I don't have to scoot."  
        Fraser  
nodded and ducked into the cab. A moment later Billy was easing himself  
in, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position for his leg.  
        "If you turn  
toward me, and put your feet on this side of the divider, it will put  
less stress on the joint." Fraser suggested as Billy pulled the  
door closed and the driver pulled into traffic.  
        Billy  
nodded, and did so. He had long legs. Very long. Like Ray's. Ben  
wondered for a moment if those long legs were currently tangled with  
a more feminine pair, somewhere in a hotel room in Acapulco. He shuddered,  
swallowing hard, pushing that image out of his mind.  
        "Ben,  
you okay?" Billy asked.  
        Fraser  
opened eyes he didn't realize he'd closed to find the other man studying  
him attentively.  
        "Yes,  
I'm fine," he lied.  
        Billy's  
gaze narrowed, and one corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah, you're  
about as fine as I am. Y'know, I think there's a couple of really crappy  
liars in this cab."  
        Fraser  
found himself half-smiling back. "I suspect you may be correct."  
        Billy nodded. "Thought  
so."

* * *  


        The rest of the brief  
cab ride was accomplished in silence. Arriving at the motel, Ben carried  
the in guitar and waited while Billy checked in. From where he stood,  
Ben couldn't hear their conversation, but after one exchange the clerk's  
eyes flickered from Billy to Fraser and back with bright curiosity.  
Billy shook his head, grinned, and said something about a bodyguard,  
loudly enough for Ben to hear. The clerk shrugged and turned his attention  
back to the task at hand. Money changed hands, as did Billy's jeans.  
Fraser assumed he was handing them over to be laundered. A few moments  
later, Billy turned and motioned for him to follow. Luckily there was  
an elevator, as the room was on the fourth floor and Billy's knee might  
not have been able to handle the stairs.  
        The  
small room was anonymous, even barren. It could have been anywhere,  
in any city. Wallpaper and bedspread in muted greens, a bureau, a desk,  
a television, and of course, a bed. A king-sized bed. Which reminded  
him of his painful speculation in the cab, and he had to distract himself,  
by placing the guitar case carefully against the wall and divesting himself  
of his jacket and hat. By the time he finished, Billy had pulled one  
of the pillows out from beneath the covers and propped it against the  
wall, and was seated on the edge of the bed trying to get his boot off,  
flinching as the torquing movements hurt his knee.  
        Fraser  
moved to kneel beside him, cupping his calf in one hand, taking the boot  
in the other and slipping it off in one smooth motion. Suddenly he was  
intensely aware of the intimacy of their respective positions, and also  
of how much this man looked like Ray. He felt his temperature rising  
in a very unexpected way, and had to remind himself that this was a stranger  
in need of aid, not his partner. Even if it were his partner, he ought  
not be thinking such things about him. Forcing himself to be impersonal,  
he repeated the actions on the other side, then nodded for Billy to swing  
his good leg up onto the mattress, while he lifted the injured one and  
eased it down onto the bed. Noting a wince, he fished the other pillow  
from beneath the covers and slid it beneath Billy's knee so it was no  
longer flat against the bed. Finished, he glanced at Billy's face to  
find the other man gazing back at him intently, almost speculatively.  
Fraser cleared his throat.  
        "I  
should go down to the desk and see if they have any aspirin. And some  
ice. You need something for that," he said, nodding toward his  
leg.  
        "I'd rather  
have a bottle of Scotch and a some smokes," Billy said a little  
petulantly.  
        "Neither  
of those substances are particularly conducive to the healing process.  
In point of fact, both of them are quite deleterious to your health."  
        Billy snorted. "That's  
the point, Ben. It's that whole live-fast-die-young-leave-a-good-looking-corpse  
mind set. 'Course, no way I can do that last one so why the hell I'm  
bothering with the first two is a good question."  
        Ben  
studied him, reminded once more of Ray. 'Do you think I'm attractive?'  
seemed to echo a little plaintively in his ears.  
        "I  
think you would make a very attractive corpse," he said thoughtlessly.  
        The blue eyes widened,  
and then Billy chuckled. "I kind of think maybe you meant that  
as a compliment, but I'm not really sure. Do I need to be worried here?  
Do they let Boy-Scout Mounties be serial killers?"  
        Fraser  
suddenly realized what he'd just said, and felt his face go hot. "Oh  
good lord! I didn't mean that the way it . . ."  
        Billy  
laughed again. "Nah, I know that. Don't worry about it. Look,  
sit down will you? You're making me nervous."  
        Fraser  
looked around, realized there was no chair in the room, and started to  
lower himself to the floor.  
        Billy  
sighed loudly. "Christ, Ben, getting mugged isn't contagious.  
It's a big bed, sit over here. I think I can keep my hands to myself."  
        Startled, Ben stared  
at him, saw nothing but good-natured teasing on that expressive face,  
and relaxed a little. That jest had been a little too close for comfort,  
as if the other man had somehow sensed his thoughts a moment earlier.  
He settled onto the bed, shoulders against the wall. Billy looked over  
at him, and shook his head.  
        "Goddamn,  
I never saw anybody _sit_ at attention before. Do you ever slouch?  
Even a little bit?"  
        Ben  
felt himself go red, and deliberately unstiffened his back just a little.  
"Is that better?"  
        "Is  
what better?" Billy asked.  
        Ben  
was about to point out that he'd actually relaxed, when he noticed the  
gleam in the other man's eyes and the tiny upcurve of one corner of his  
mouth, and he realized he was being teased. Again. He took it as a  
personal challenge and brought up his knees, feet flat on the bed, leaned  
forward and wrapped his arms around his knees, which he knew would produce  
a noticeable curve in his spine. Then he realized he still had his shoes  
on and quickly swung his feet down to the floor again. As soon as he'd  
done that, he heard Billy snickering happily.  
        "I  
knew it. You can't! Jesus Christ, Ben, were you raised by Martha Stewart  
or something?"  
          
"Martha who?" Fraser asked blankly.  
        "Never  
mind. I can't believe I even know who she is. That's what living in  
LA will do to you. I watch too fucking much television." He was  
quiet for a moment, fingers fidgeting with the pocket on his flannel  
shirt, then he let his head fall back against the pillow with a sigh.  
"Shit, I would kill for a cigarette, but I hurt, and _somebody  
_ won't go get me any," he said, with a narrow-eyed look at Ben.  
"And do not tell me I should quit."  
        Ben,  
who had been about to say that very thing, closed his mouth and nodded.  
Billy was quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then he looked  
over at him again.  
        "So,  
who's 'Ray?'"  
        Fraser  
stiffened. "Ray?" he asked, trying for nonchalance and failing  
miserably.  
        "Yeah.  
When you came to the door, you said 'Ray', then you said you'd mistaken  
me for someone else."  
        "Ah.  
Well, Ray is my. . . my partner. Unofficially, of course, as I have  
no jurisdiction here."  
        "Mmm.  
He usually come by so late?"  
        "Occasionally,"  
Fraser admitted.  
        "He  
the friend you mentioned?"  
        Billy  
really was amazingly perceptive. Disconcertingly so. Ben thought for  
a moment, then realized that perhaps this was the way he could get Billy  
to talk about what had happened. By opening up, by revealing some of  
his own private pain, it would encourage the other man to do the same.  
And again, it seemed as if opening up to a complete stranger was precisely  
what he needed, since he simply could not do so with anyone he knew.  
He leaned down and started unlacing his boots so he wouldn't have to  
look at Billy as he spoke.  
        "Yes.  
He is. Or was. No, is."  
        "Don't  
sound too sure."  
        Ben  
pulled off his boots and set them beside the bed, then lifted his feet  
to its flat surface and leaned back against the wall, assuming what he  
hoped was a marginally relaxed pose.  
        "Yes.  
I'm sure he is my friend. What he is not is more than that."  
        Billy shifted position  
a little to look at his face. Ben stared blankly at the far wall, refusing  
to meet those luminous eyes, eyes which saw far too clearly, it seemed.  
        "Gonna explain  
that?"  
        Ben sighed,  
and locked his hands around his knees, staring at them now. "I  
should first ask you a rather personal question, one whose answer will  
determine whether you want me to remain and talk with you, or leave immediately."  
        "Hunh?" Billy  
said, sounding amused. "Was that English or some other language?"  
        "Forgive me. I'm  
afraid I tend to become somewhat bombastic when under stress. It's a  
coping mechanism."  
        "Am  
I stressing you?" Billy said, regarding him closely.  
        "Not  
precisely, although the situation does have stressful components."  
        "If you don't want  
to get into it, it's okay. I get that."  
        For  
an instant he sounded almost painfully like Ray. "I . . . think  
I would like to 'get into it', actually. I suspect I need to. If you're  
willing to listen."  
        "I  
told you, you need anything, I'm there."  
        "Before  
you say that, I should ask that question I spoke of."  
        "Ask  
away."  
        Ben cleared  
his throat, feeling a blush rise just at the thought of asking this.  
He felt the need to preface the question. "I must ask that you  
not speak of this to anyone. At least, not in the same breath with my  
name. It could present certain difficulties for me, career-wise."  
        "Lips are sealed,  
Ben. Not a word to anyone. On my . . . well, I'd say on my honor but  
I haven't got any. How about I swear it on my guitar?"  
        Ben  
knew that for Billy, that was probably as binding as swearing on a Bible.  
He nodded. "Thank you. So. My question . . . " Blood rose  
in his face, hotter than before. "What is your stance . . . ah,  
I should say, your personal opinion, on-- well, on same-sex relations?"  
There. He'd said it. Finally. He'd rarely found a simple question  
so difficult to ask.  
        Silence.  
Fraser kept his gaze firmly on his hands, barely breathing as he waited  
for an answer. He heard Billy draw in a long, shaky breath, then let  
it out in a sigh.  
        "Fuck.  
You?"  
        Although  
the juxtaposition of those two words could have led him to believe he  
had just been told to leave, the phrasing said otherwise. It was a statement  
of surprise, and a question. He closed his eyes, tightly, holding back  
the tears. "Yes, me. Not him," he said, his voice barely a  
whisper.  
        "Oh,  
Christ . . ." Weight shifted on the bed, a hand touched his shoulder,  
rubbed awkwardly. "That-- well, that sucks."  
        Ben  
nodded, half laughing, half weeping. It felt so good to get it out.  
To say it to someone, even as painful as it was. And he was so relieved  
that Billy hadn't turned away in disgust. The hand slid down to his  
back, moving over his shoulders, his spine, oddly soothing. He managed  
to get his breathing under control, and his tears a moment later. He  
drew in a deep breath, and wiped his eyes.  
        "I'm  
sorry, I don't usually . . ."  
        "No  
problem," Billy interrupted, softly. "Seems t' be the night  
for it."  
        There  
was a moment of silence, but Billy's hand never stopped moving on his  
back in a slow, almost hypnotic circling. It occurred to Ben that no  
one had touched him like this since his mother had died. Certainly Ray  
touched him. A physically demonstrative person, Ray thought nothing  
of flinging an arm around his shoulders, of patting his shoulder, holding  
his arm, dragging him around corners and behind cover, even an occasional  
hug. He touched Ben so often that it was sometimes enough to be distressing,  
since it only left him wanting more. And of course, he had touched and  
been touched by Victoria, but that had been entirely different, overtly  
sexual. However, this sort of sustained, voluntary, yet nonsexual touch  
was completely absent from his physical lexicon. It made him feel strangely  
childlike.  
        "So.  
You wanta talk about it?" Billy asked.  
        Fraser  
sighed. "There's little to tell."  
        "You  
ever touch him?" Billy asked suddenly, his voice strangely fierce,  
his body as tense as a drawn bow.  
        "Well,  
of course. All the time. It would be difficult to work together without  
touching . . . "  
        "Not  
that way, idiot. I mean touch him. Fuck him."  
        Ben  
was shocked speechless for a moment, then he finally managed to find  
his voice. "Good Lord, no! Of. . . of course not! That's just.  
. . just . . . no!"  
        The  
tension seemed to flow out of Billy like water. "Okay. Okay, that's  
good. I mean, if he's not, like you said."  
        Ben  
shouldn't have understood that, but he did. Billy meant that if Ray  
did not feel the same way about Ben that Ben felt about Ray. Ben tried  
to regulate his suddenly quick breathing, swallowing to moisten his dry  
mouth. Hearing that said so brazenly had brought images to mind that  
were far too powerful for comfort. Billy sat up suddenly, turning away,  
swinging his legs off the bed and lurching to his feet with a soft grunt  
of pain. He started to pace, limping.  
        "I  
shouldn't've said that. I had no business asking that. I mean, you  
wouldn't. I can just look at you and know that. You would never touch  
anybody unless they wanted you to."  
        A  
sudden, stealing guilt came over Ben as he watched the other man's pained  
movements. "I did, once, though. In a way," he confessed,  
not entirely sure why.  
        Billy  
swung around to stare at him. "You? No way."  
        "Yes.  
I . . . I kissed him. So to speak."  
        "Either  
you did or you didn't."  
        "We  
were trapped, underwater. I had to give him air."  
        Billy  
looked disgusted. "Ben, that's not a kiss."  
        Ben  
closed his eyes. "I know. But I wanted it to be. I dream of it  
as if it were."  
        "Dreaming  
and doing aren't the same. You know that. I know that." He seemed  
to shiver, and turned to draw aside the curtain and stare out the window  
at the wall of the building next door. When he spoke again, it was so  
quietly that Ben had to strain to hear him. "Even if it was, a  
kiss-- that means something. It's not just a fuck with someone who's  
too screwed up to say no."  
        As  
Ben tried to puzzle out the meaning behind those words, Billy put a hand  
on the glass, palm flat, fingers looking spidery against the dark, then  
he curled his fingers into a fist, tapped the glass lightly with his  
knuckles, then slightly harder. Suddenly alert, Fraser rolled off the  
bed and launched himself at the slender figure, grabbing his wrist just  
as he drew back his arm, muscles fully tensed to smash his fist right  
through the glass. On the way down he managed to twist his body enough  
so that he ended up taking the brunt of the fall as they hit the floor.  
Billy struggled, fighting his hold, surprisingly strong for all his thinness.  
It seemed as if the more he tried to hold him down, the harder he fought,  
until Ben resorted to wrapping both arms around him and pinning him to  
the floor, using gravity to subdue him.  
        "Billy,  
stop. Please, stop. I don't want to hurt you, and I'm not going to let  
you hurt yourself. Stop."  
        Abruptly  
the smaller man's body went lax. Wary of a ruse, Ben waited a moment,  
then he felt the telltale shudders of sobs as they racked the body beneath  
his in eerie silence. He shifted his weight, rolling to his side, still  
holding Billy, soothing a hand down his back, trying to mimic that sexless  
comforting Billy had offered him earlier.  
        "You  
should talk about it," Ben said softly. "You have to, or it  
will eat you alive. Tell me. I'll listen."  
        The  
blond head rolled slightly, side to side. Negative. A gasping breath,  
more tears.  
        "Billy,  
please. You listened to me. Let me listen to you. Let me help. Tell  
me what you're feeling."  
        "How  
could he do that?" A whisper.  
        "What  
did he do, Billy?" Ben prompted softly, hoping this time he would  
continue.  
        Billy sniffled,  
coughed, laid his head against his forearm, not looking at Ben. "Does  
he know, your friend? Have you told him?"  
        Well,  
he was talking. The wrong subject, but talking, nonetheless. Progress  
of a sort. Ben sighed. "No. I can't. It would-- well, it just  
wouldn't be a good idea."  
        "You  
don't know that," Billy said, a world of sorrow in his voice. "Could  
make a difference. A big difference. I know. Damn him, if he'd ever  
said a word, if he'd just fucking told me. . ." His voice broke,  
but he went on. "How could he fucking do that to me when I'm starting  
to think I can trust him again? Just like before, he doesn't ask, just  
thinks he knows what I want, what I need. Fucks me again, puts it on  
me, like it's my fault. I was gonna tell him! I just wanted to tell  
him when we were _up_ , after the concert. But he can't wait. Can't  
just ask me, when that asshole Bruce tells him first. No, he has to  
fuck me again, just like before. Except this time I can't even get mad  
at him, 'cause he's fucking _dead_!"  
        The  
words stopped abruptly, and a moment of quiet ensued. Ben felt a little  
dazed. It was becoming clear that Billy was holding in more than the  
suicide of a close friend. Although he knew he was naive in many ways,  
he was fairly certain that Billy had just used the word 'fuck' in two,  
or perhaps even three completely different ways. Certainly he was using  
it as an expletive, which Ben was learning to cope with, and once in  
the common parlance of 'to do wrong' but the other use was the word's  
most basic meaning. Sex. That in turn seemed to tie into the strange  
tension he'd observed in Billy earlier, when he'd asked 'You ever touch  
him?' That question took on a new and disturbing significance now.  
Before he could think of what to say, Billy took a deep breath, and seemed  
to pull into himself somehow.  
        "Sorry.  
That was a fucking stupid way to say you should tell your friend how  
you feel. Maybe kiss him. I'd've been . . . Jesus, none of this shit  
would've happened if Joe could've . . . if he'd just told me! How he  
felt. Or showed me. Anything to let me know it wasn't about the band,  
or the money, or a contract. That it was about me. But no, he can't  
fucking tell me, he has to let me think it's all about anger, and power,  
and control, which it was, too, but it was more than that and he never  
told me. For five damned years he lets me think that, right up until  
he . . . And even now I'm not sure. When all it would have taken was  
a kiss."  
        "Until  
he what, Billy?" Ben asked, knowing it would hurt, but knowing  
Billy needed to say it.  
        Billy's  
slender frame tensed even more. "Until he put a bullet through  
his fucked-up asshole brain, goddamn him. But I can't say that. You  
can't be mad at a dead person!"  
        There.  
Finally. Part of it anyway. It was almost as much of a relief to Ben  
to hear him say it as it must be for Billy to have spoken of it at last.  
This he could help with. This was within his realm of understanding.  
"Yes, you can. It's perfectly normal to be angry right now,"  
Ben told him gently. "It's actually a very common reaction to the  
death of a loved one. He left you behind to try to pick up the pieces,  
left you to clean up the mess, to feel guilty, to wonder if there was  
something you could have said, or done differently . . ."  
        Billy  
moaned, shuddering. "Oh God. I know there was. It was my fault.  
If I'd told him about Jenifur, told him, instead of those assholes on  
the film crew. . . Christ! I practically put the damned gun in his  
hand and told him to pull the trigger!"  
        "No,  
you did not," Ben said firmly. "There are always other paths.  
That he chose that one says that he was already well along it before  
whatever you think you did occurred. Once a person has reached that  
place, they need professional help, and there is little which even the  
most concerned friend can do to turn them aside. Joe made a conscious  
choice to exclude you from his confidence, not to speak of his feelings,  
or his intentions. You can't be expected to have read his mind."  
        Ben paused a moment,  
then went on to the more delicate subject that needed addressing. "He  
also, from what you said, made another conscious decision several years  
ago, one that resulted in a terrible breach of trust between you and  
perhaps precipitated this outcome. Now, perhaps I've misinterpreted,  
and forgive me if I seem to pry, but did Joe . . . hurt you?" Ben  
frowned, irritated with himself. That was far too coy, and too easily  
misinterpreted. "That is, did he force you . . . to have sex with  
him?"  
        There  
was a long, tense silence, then finally Billy sighed, and nodded against  
his arm. "Yeah. I mean, I think so. I was pretty screwed up.  
I'd been drinking, a lot. He was coked up, but more together than me,  
by a long shot. I was trying to talk to him, and he wasn't listening.  
I was furious at him, he blew the deal. Again. Had to screw up another  
shot at success-- I swear he was scared to death of that, like it would  
fucking contaminate him or something. So he pissed in the guy's drink,  
for God's sake! Stupid! So I keep drinking and getting madder, and  
all the sudden he wants to make nice, and he's touching me."  
        Deep breath then. A  
slight shift of position, easing the pressure on his injured knee, which  
made Ben feel guilty and want to stop him, to make him get back on the  
bed where he wasn't in so much pain, but he didn't want to stop the flow  
of words yet. Billy needed to talk. And Ben needed to listen. To help.  
It was almost a compulsion.  
        "Now,  
don't get me wrong here. It wasn't the first time. We'd messed around  
some before, nothing serious, just that 'whatever feels good' kind of  
stuff, sometimes with girls, sometimes not, it didn't really matter.  
But I didn't want him to touch me then, I was mad, you know, and the  
last thing I want is him all over me. Especially when I figure out he  
wants more than we ever did before. So I tell him that, or I think I  
did, and he keeps going, and I'm too plowed to think straight, and he's  
a big guy, and . . ."  
        The  
torrent of words stopped abruptly, then started again in a different  
place, like a record skipping over a scratch. Ben tried not to let his  
dismay and upset communicate itself to Billy through his touch, trying  
to remain calm, and relaxed, though he was appalled by what he was hearing.  
        "Maybe he was  
just too messed up to hear me. Maybe he thought I didn't mean it. But  
whatever it was, after that I just couldn't be around him, couldn't  
trust him anymore. I mean, I may be an asshole but even I know you don't  
do stuff to people when they say no. And the stupid thing is, if he'd  
just fucking _told_ me how he felt, I wouldn't have said no. Idiot!  
I loved him! More than anybody else in my whole damned life. Thought  
he loved me, too, until then. But that made me think he must not, 'cause  
you don't do that to people you love. So I left."  
        Billy  
ended there as if he'd run out of words. Ben waited for him to go on,  
but he didn't. After a few seconds it became clear he was finished,  
and Ben slid his hand up to Billy's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.  
        "Billy, what you  
did was right. You did what you had to do, for you. In situations like  
that, when one party is abusive, you have to get out."  
        "He  
wasn't abus . . ." Billy began indignantly, then he stopped and  
thought for a moment. He turned his head a little to look at Ben with  
red-rimmed eyes. "Hunh. Never thought about it like that before.  
Thought he was a manipulative bastard, thought he was an asshole, maybe  
even fucked up beyond hope, but never really thought of abusive. But  
that was what he grew up with. What he knew."  
        Ben  
studied him intently, hearing the unspoken 'we' behind those words.  
He suspected Billy too had come from a less than ideal childhood environment,  
though he seemed to have survived it better than many. Schooling his  
face to be carefully nonjudgmental, he nodded. "It's a terribly  
common pattern. You said you thought he loved you, and he may very well  
have done, but he probably had no idea how to go about expressing that  
love in a positive manner. Did he ever express regret over his actions?"  
        Billy lifted a hand,  
rubbing his forehead, hiding his expressive face behind his palm as he  
did. "No. I mean, not really. Said he was sorry if he was a little  
rough, that's all. Like it was okay for him to fuck me but not for him  
to hurt me doing it. And the worst thing was, he made me. . ."  
his voice trailed off, and Ben saw the pale skin of his cheek darken  
behind his hand. "Never mind. You don't want to know that."  
        "It's all right,  
Billy. You can tell me."  
        A  
head shake, face still hidden behind his hand. "Can't."  
        Clearly, the topic was  
something deeply personal, probably humiliating. After all Billy had  
already revealed, Ben could barely think of anything that could be worse,  
but clearly the other man thought it was. Perhaps it was time to make  
a change in venue. Curiously reluctant to forsake the feeling of that  
slender body against his own, he moved away, into a crouch beside him.  
        "Would you roll  
onto your back, please?"  
        Billy  
dropped his hand and looked at him, startled, and Ben thought he saw  
a hint of shame clouding his eyes for a moment before surprise replaced  
it. "Why?"  
        "Don't  
worry, I intend nothing untoward," Ben assured him.  
        That  
drew a sudden, swift smile. "Untoward? They teach you to talk  
like that at the Depot?"  
        Ben  
smiled back, pleased by the break in the tension. "I'm afraid that  
was my grandmother's doing. She was most assiduous in the instruction  
of grammar and vocabulary."  
Billy chuckled. "That explains  
a lot." He rolled onto his back with a slight wince as his knee  
flattened. Ben leaned down. "Now, if you would sit up, and place  
your arms around my neck . . ."  
        Billy  
eyed him dubiously. "What for?"  
        "Trust  
me?" Ben said, then wished he could snatch back the words as he  
remembered how little reason Billy had to trust anyone. Strangely, Billy  
didn't flinch or withdraw. He considered for a moment, then did as Ben  
had instructed. Ben felt rather as if he'd just been given a gift.  
Carefully he slid one hand around Billy's back, and the other beneath  
his legs, and cautiously balancing himself, he stood up. Billy's arms  
tightened automatically as he yelped in surprise.  
        "What  
the fuck?"  
        "I'm  
just moving you to the bed, your knee has been stressed enough."  
He moved toward the bed, carrying Billy easily, though not effortlessly.  
A moment later he was leaning down to place him on the mattress, and  
then tucking the pillow back beneath his knee again. "There. Better?"  
        Billy stared up at him,  
wide-eyed, and shook his head as if to clear it. "You're weird,  
Ben."  
        Despite  
himself, Ben found himself smiling. "Ray sometimes says I am a  
freak."  
        "He's  
right. I mean, not that that's a bad thing, but . . ."  
        Ben's  
smile broadened. "Understood. Now, I'm going to get some ice for  
that. Stay there."  
        "Or  
you'll what?" Billy challenged.  
        Ben  
couldn't think of an answer. The question disconcerted him. He shook  
his head. "Or you will be in pain, obviously."  
        He  
turned to go, puzzled, fighting the conflicting feelings that Billy raised  
in him. He wanted to help him, to heal him, yet he was also attracted  
to him. He wasn't used to being attracted to two different people at  
the same time. It felt strange, and forbidden. As he picked up the  
ice-bucket and key-card and stepped out of the room in search of ice  
he tried to analyze his own reactions.  
        Was  
the attraction he felt simply due to the fact that Billy looked like  
Ray? Certainly it didn't hurt. Was he somehow substituting one for  
the other? He didn't think so, but could not help but suspect himself  
of it, simply because the resemblance was so strong. They were alike  
in more than physical ways. Both men were vulnerable, wounded even.  
That attracted him. He frowned as he realized that. What did that say  
about his own mental state? He didn't want to think about that. Deliberately  
he moved into efficient mode, and locating the ice machine, he filled  
the container he held and went back to the room. He stopped in the bathroom  
and lifted out the plastic bag that lined the waste can. Emptying the  
ice-bucket into it, he twisted it tightly and tied it closed before wrapping  
it in a hand-towel from the rack behind the toilet.  
        "Here  
we are, hold this for a moment," he said, handing the bundle to  
Billy as he reached down to carefully slip the leg of his sweat pants  
up above the other man's knee, above the elastic bandage, keeping his  
movements brisk and professional. "You should see a doctor about  
this as soon as possible, as you may have sprained it, or torn a ligament,  
and you don't want permanent damage to ensue. I remember a trapper outside  
of Yellow Knife who once went two weeks on a torn . . ."  
        "Ben,  
stop," Billy said quietly.  
        Ben  
stopped, his hands resting on Billy's bent knee, his head down.  
        "Look at me."  
        He looked up, slowly,  
hoping his emotions weren't written all over his face. Billy's eyes  
were shrewd and bright as he studied Ben's face. "Tell me about  
Ray."  
        Relief.  
He hadn't figured it out. "Ray is . . . he's my best friend. Well,  
my only friend."  
        "No.  
I don't believe that. But I believe that you believe it. Why are you  
so hard on yourself, Ben? I mean, you're not like me, you don't have  
'loser' tattooed on your ass. You have a real job, a grown-up job that  
people respect. You're smart, you're kind, and good. You know how to  
talk, how to act. Shit, you're even fucking unbelievably gorgeous.  
Why can't you just let yourself be happy?"  
        Ben  
looked away, unable to bear that brilliant scrutiny. "I don't know.  
I just don't . . . feel . . . good enough. Don't feel I deserve it."  
        Billy laughed. "Christ,  
there's not much hope for me then, if you don't!"  
        "No!"  
Ben exclaimed, looking up again. "This has nothing to do with you,  
not with you, or Ray, or anyone. It's simply . . . me. Who I am."  
        "It's wrong, Ben.  
That's not who you should be."  
        Ben  
sighed. "Very few of us are who we should be."  
        Billy  
was quiet for a moment, then he sighed, too. "Well, you got that  
right. Ray. You were telling me about Ray. Do I remind you of him?  
You called me by his name outside the Consulate."  
        Ben  
nodded. "Yes. The resemblance is . . . well, frankly, it's rather  
astonishing."  
        Billy  
nodded, as if that made sense. He studied Ben for a moment longer, then  
his gaze flickered down to the towel-wrapped bundle in his hands. Silently  
he held it out and Ben took it, molding it carefully around Billy's knee,  
holding it in place. The cold seeped through the towel, through his  
hands. It felt good. Soothing. He always felt at home in the cold.  
The silence lengthened, not unpleasantly. He liked silence as well.  
Finally Billy spoke again.  
        "When  
you had me on the floor, for a second I kind of thought you were Joe.  
He was about your size, your coloring. Except for the fact that you're  
not an asshole, and you're better-looking, you could be his brother.  
That's why I freaked out."  
        "I'm  
sorry! I didn't realize . . ."  
        Billy  
sighed, interrupting his apology. "Ben, I didn't tell you so you'd  
feel bad, I told you so you would know I understand. And it's okay."  
        Ben stared at him, frowning  
a little, trying to puzzle out the meanings in those statements. There  
were many possibilities.  
        "You  
want to kiss him?" Billy asked.  
        It  
took Ben a moment to realize he meant Ray. Once he did, he nodded, a  
flush painting his face.  
        "And  
more?" Billy prompted softly.  
        He  
nodded again, somehow compelled to honesty by this man. He could never  
have admitted this to anyone else. Could barely even admit it to himself.  
        "I wanted that,  
too. I wanted to kiss Joe. I wanted to . . . make love with him. Not  
just fuck. There's a difference, you probably don't know that. Even  
after he . . . even after that. Or maybe because of that. See, I loved  
him, and I wanted to know what it was like to make love instead of fucking.  
Fucking is all I've ever done. Bet you don't have a clue what I'm talking  
about, though. You've probably never fucked anybody in your whole damned  
life. And no, I don't mean I think you're a virgin so stop bristling,"  
he said with an amused glance at Ben, who subsided. "I mean you  
just don't think in those terms. It's not part of your . . . vocabulary."  
        Ben found himself listening  
with his whole being, unconsciously leaning toward the source of that  
soft, husky voice as if Billy held the key to something that had been  
locked away from him for years. His entire life, perhaps. Anticipation  
shivered through him, and he tried to push it away. Just because Billy's  
words could, with some imagination, be considered a prelude . . . no.  
They were simply words. Explanation. Nothing more. He must not let  
himself get carried away with unrealistic daydreams.  
        "I  
guess now I'll never know if we could have had something more, or if  
it was too late for him." Billy carried on, conversationally, as  
if he was not speaking with incredible intimacy of things that Ben had  
never discussed with another living soul. "I think maybe it was  
too late for Joe a long time ago. But talking to you here, admitting  
what happened, makes me hope maybe it's not too late for me. I'm tired  
of being empty, Ben, I want more than that."  
        Billy  
stopped and stared off at nothing, his gaze distant and unfocused. Ben  
watched his face, seeing shadows and the yearning in it. Waiting. He  
knew Billy wasn't finished yet, and after a moment that was proved out  
when the other man sighed and spoke again.  
        "It's  
weird . . . I just found out I have a daughter. Her name is Billie."  
He sighed. "After me, I guess. She's about five years old, I don't  
know exactly. Shit. I don't even know her birthday. I never even knew  
she existed until a few days ago, her mother never told me. Still hasn't.  
I just figured it out on my own."  
        Billy  
fidgeted nervously with his shirt pocket again, Ben guessed he was looking  
for cigarettes. A daughter? He tried not to think about the carelessness  
that implied. It was clear that Billy had come a long way from those  
days, and shouldn't be judged on those merits.  
        "I,  
uh, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised she didn't tell me. I mean, I  
was not exactly somebody you'd want to play house with." He laughed  
drily. "Maybe I should be surprised I haven't had a string of paternity  
suits. It was like that on the road. A lot of anonymous fucking, rarely  
safe, because it wasn't easy if it was safe, because it didn't feel as  
good. Assholes, all of us. Idiots, too. I'm amazed I'm not dead now,  
or living on AZT. But I guess I'm just a lucky son of a bitch, I guess,  
since I'm clean.  
        "But  
ever since Joe, I've wondered sometimes if any of them said no to me,  
and I was too fucked up to hear them. That scares the shit out of me,  
thinking that I could have done that. Gives me nightmares. Did I hurt  
anybody like that? I don't think so, but I don't know. And then he  
called, and like some stupid cow I went. I was hoping . . . well, you  
know what I was hoping for. Already told you that. But it was just  
like before. He hadn't changed at all, and I had. I moved on, he was  
still exactly the same. And I didn't know what to do to get past that."  
        He shook his head,  
rubbed his hands over his face, through his hair, and shuddered. "Christ.  
You said that Joe didn't know how to love, and neither do I. Hard to  
learn what you've never had. But I-- I want to learn. I want to be  
able to say before I die that I know what love is." He finally  
looked back at Ben. "Don't you want to do that, Ben? Don't you  
want to say that?"  
        The  
question seemed to go straight into Ben's heart like the shining blade  
of a well-honed knife. He felt his throat thicken, but nodded, blinking  
back tears. "Yes," he managed to choke out past the lump.  
        "Then tell him.  
Show him. It's worth the risk. Believe me, I know. Better to risk  
feeling too much than to end up feeling nothing at all."  
        Ben  
shook his head, feeling a desperate urge to run away from this too deep,  
too revealing conversation, yet somehow chained in place, saying things  
he had never imagined saying to anyone. "I can't. I don't . . .  
I'm not good at . . . I don't . . . I don't want him to go away,"  
he whispered, feeling, and sounding, like a six-year-old child who had  
lost his mother. "Everyone I love goes away."  
        "But  
at least you had them, Ben. That's more than a lot of people get."  
        The truth of that felt  
like a sunrise. It had never occurred to Ben before that it was more  
than a lot of people had. He'd simply taken it for granted. Had thought  
everyone else had more.  
        "Ben?"  
        He looked up, to  
find Billy reaching out to him, his right hand extended, palm up in invitation.  
He closed his eyes. This wasn't him. He wanted it. But it wasn't him.  
He wanted it. The ice bag slid from numb fingers, slipped off the bed  
to the floor. He reached out, put his hand in that long, narrow-palmed  
one, allowed it to draw him forward.  
        "Your  
hand's cold," Billy said softly.  
        "Yes.  
The ice," Ben explained meaninglessly.  
        Billy  
lifted Ben's hand and placed it square in the center of his chest. Against  
his palm Ben could feel the other man's heartbeat, fast, hard, as if  
he'd been running. Or was afraid. Fear. Billy was afraid. Just as  
he was afraid. Different reasons perhaps, but the same result. Two  
fearful hearts. He let his fingers spread out a little, soothing back  
and forth across that hard plane. Billy closed his eyes, leaned his  
head back against the wall, his palm resting against the back of Ben's  
hand as his fingers moved gently. Ben's gaze slid down that angular face,  
to the beautifully modeled mouth. He wanted to taste it. So much.  
Why was this so difficult? Why couldn't he just lean forward and . .  
.  
        His lips came to  
rest on warm, satin-textured flesh. Slightly moist. Yielding. He brought  
his hands up, cupping the stubbled jawline, tipping Billy's head slightly  
to one side so he could seal their lips more closely. Strangely, now  
that he'd started, this wasn't difficult at all. Billy's lips parted  
at his urging, warm breath misting into his mouth. He licked out, tasting  
a faint hint of hours-ago tobacco, not terribly unpleasant, to his surprise.  
Tea. Peanut butter. Something else, unidentifiable, unique. He licked  
again and again, searching for that taste, finding it on palate, in the  
soft hollow between teeth and lips, then on tongue, which slid and tangled  
with his own as that yielding mouth came to life, suckling at his own,  
biting. Delightful. Exotic.  
        Billy  
made a soft sound, definitely not a protest, and his arms slid around  
Ben's waist, pulling him down so their bodies were touching almost everywhere,  
one knee coming up alongside Ben's hip, making a space for Ben's body  
there, between his thighs. It was strange to feel hardness there, where  
his own body remembered a different configuration. A little to his surprise,  
he found the hardness under him was just as erotic as that barely-recalled  
softness. He wanted to touch, to explore this uncharted territory,  
so strangely familiar, yet so startlingly unfamiliar as well. To map  
it, to learn every nuance of it, every valley, peak, plane . . . the  
topography of desire.  
        He  
let his hand slide down Billy's throat to his chest, a solid curve beneath  
a palm. A slight rise there beneath thin cotton. Nipple. He let his  
fingers take it, tugging softly, feeling it harden. Billy moaned into  
his mouth, body arching beneath his. Suddenly it was too much. Ben  
pulled away, almost panting, shaking his head.  
        "No,  
this isn't right. I can't use you."  
        "Shhh,  
you're not," Billy said, his hand caressing Ben's arm, moving over  
his shoulder, like before, only not like before, this time with sensual  
intent. "It's okay."  
        "No.  
You don't understand. I don't want to make you a substitute. You don't  
deserve that. It's not right, it's not fair."  
        "Nobody  
ever said life was fair, Ben," Billy said with a sigh. "But  
I understand." Billy's hand slid higher, up his throat, fingers  
threading into his hair, stroking. "I know it's wrong for me to  
use you as a substitute, too. For Joe. I know you don't love me, you  
love Ray and you know I don't love you, I loved Joe. But if . . . if  
we can be that for each other, do that for each other, we're not hurting  
anyone, are we?"  
        Billy's  
voice was tentative, almost sorrowful, the hunger in it almost palpable,  
the need an echoing ache in his own flesh. No. They weren't hurting  
anyone. And it felt so good, to be held, to be close to someone. It  
had been so long. To feel the warmth and closeness of that wiry body  
against his own, to taste in Billy what he could not taste of Ray.  
        "Ben, we don't have  
them. I know you love Ray, and I don't expect that from you. I just  
need to know it's possible, that people can have this. Let me feel that,  
let me pretend just for now right now that I can have that, that this  
is for me."  
        Ben  
started to protest that, feeling that wasn't nearly enough, but Billy  
put his fingers over his mouth, shaking his head.  
        "Let  
me give you what you can't, or won't let yourself have. It's okay, Ben.  
We can do this for each other. It's comfort, Ben. Nothing wrong with  
comfort."  
        Billy's  
fingers exerted a gentle pressure against the back of Ben's neck, urging  
him to lower his head again, not pushing, easily resisted, should he  
want to. But he didn't want to. He wanted to yield. He wanted to comfort,  
and to be comforted. He let those fingers coax him down, let his mouth  
settle over the warmly welcoming lips beneath his own. Billy's tongue  
flickered against his mouth, clever, agile, teasing. He chased it with  
his own, found it, moved slickly. Resistance disappeared, and desire  
renewed itself; fire finding dry tinder. As he had started to once before,  
Ben let himself become an explorer, learning the unaccustomed terrain  
of this almost stranger's body with all his senses.  
        Taste;  
the subtle salt of sweat, the sweetness of mouth and tongue, the bitter  
undertones of burning leaves. Scent; sweat again, faint, acrid, strangely  
rich. Soap. Something citrusy in his hair. A hint of smoke. Touch,  
the shifting of cloth beneath his fingers as he pushed Billy's shirt  
aside, then the living warmth of silky skin, a little loose over hollow  
belly, where grief had been feeding off him. He stroked softly, letting  
his fingers edge beneath the drooping waist of too-large sweatpants,  
felt the lithe form beneath him arch into his touch, breaking their kiss  
with a little shiver.  
        "Mmmyeah,"  
Billy sighed softly against his mouth.  
        Sound;  
husky, low, breathless, the strange, erotic vibration of a hum against  
sensitive flesh. The soft clinging sound of lips parting, touching,  
parting again. Ben delved into that wet heat again, more fiercely now,  
letting himself slip the leash of his control, just a little, remembering  
somehow to temper his need with gentleness, wanting to give that comfort,  
to give Billy the reassurance he needed, though he wasn't entirely sure  
of its truth himself. He felt Billy respond, moving against him, mouth  
open, hands stroking up his flanks, the backs of his thighs, his buttocks,  
moving higher to tug the back of his t-shirt free of his jeans. Ben  
tensed in anticipation as those long fingers slipped beneath his shirt,  
splayed over his back, then began to move, callused fingertips playing  
unwritten chords on his skin.  
        Ben  
moaned and shuddered. So long, so long untouched, he felt as if he were  
rediscovering sensation, as if his body had been asleep for years, and  
circulation was only now returning to his flesh. Painful, yet welcome.  
It came to him that he could not touch, or even see as much of Billy  
as he wanted to, mostly because he was lying on him. He shifted position,  
moving to lie beside him.  
        "Hey  
. . ." Billy protested, frowning, and opening his eyes.  
        Ben  
didn't speak, he just reached out and took the lower edge of Billy's  
shirt in his hands. Billy's protest died, and a smile curved his mouth.  
He lifted his arms, and Ben stripped his shirt up, and then off. Finally,  
sight; Billy had the look of someone who hadn't eaten properly in days,  
but there was a certain wasted beauty about him. The stubble-framed  
mouth, oddly angelic considering the words that tended to issue from  
it, traces of a subtle smile lingering at its corners. His eyes were  
closed again, their luminescence hidden, but even closed they held a  
sleepy sensuality. His chest was a bare, bony width sheathed in pale  
gold skin, like chamois, with light sienna nipples and only the faintest  
dusting of hair.  
        Leaning  
over, Ben used his tongue to trace a border around one of those nubs,  
feeling the faint crinkle of fine blond hairs against his lips, then  
he breathed across saliva-damp skin and watched the skin pebble and tighten.  
Only then did he take it between his lips, wringing a soft cry from the  
other man as he sucked and tongued. Strange, to be so intently focused  
on giving pleasure, but to have that very focus return pleasure. Usually  
when he was focused, it was to the exclusion of all other sensory input,  
yet now it seemed only to heighten his own desire.  
        Billy  
reached down and trailed his fingers across Ben's cheek, then slid them  
between his chest and Ben's mouth, breaking the suction. As he lifted  
his head, Billy reached out and began to unbuckle Ben's belt. Ben went  
still, suddenly nervous, but he didn't protest as Billy removed his belt,  
opened the button on his jeans, and then very slowly drew the front of  
his shirt out of his pants to match the back part, and then eased his  
hands beneath it, pushing it up. He got it bunched under Ben's arms,  
and looked him in the face with a smile and a quickly lifted eyebrow.  
Blushing, Ben finally got the hint, lifting his arms so Billy could draw  
his shirt the rest of the way off.  
        Barechested,  
Ben felt achingly self-conscious. He'd always been embarrassed by his  
smooth, pale skin, had been teased about it at the Depot, in the barracks,  
along with so many other things. That had been a difficult time for  
him. He'd also always felt he was too thin, although compared to Billy  
he was positively bulky. But Billy's gaze was anything but mocking.  
He drew in a breath, reached out to touch, sliding his fingers down Ben's  
chest, making him shiver.  
        "Beautiful,"  
he breathed. "Fucking beautiful." Suddenly Billy was rolling  
to his knees, reaching for him, and just as suddenly he flinched. "Ouch,  
damn it! Fuck!" He collapsed onto his side, cradling his injured  
knee, then looked up and shot a startling grin at Ben, who was about  
to start fretting. "I'm okay. Just surprised me." He chuckled.  
"Shit, you got me so hot I forgot about it. How the hell am I supposed  
to do anything if I can't move?"  
        Ben  
smiled. "I can move, so you don't need to."  
        Billy  
closed his eyes and groaned, flopping onto his back with one hand over  
his heart. "Am I dead?"  
        Concerned,  
Ben leaned over him. "Of course you're not dead, why would you  
say that?"  
        Billy  
opened his eyes, mischief shining in them. "Because I am in fucking  
heaven, that's why, you idiot," he said affectionately, reaching  
up and hauling Ben down against him, mouth open and demanding. The kiss  
turned hard, almost fierce, both of them were panting by the time Ben  
drew back with a soft protest.  
        "Sorry!"  
he gasped, suddenly remembering that Billy had already had one negative  
experience with a man. "Too hard!"  
        Billy  
grinned fiercely. "Not too hard. I won't break, Ben. I may be  
scrawny but I'm strong."  
        Ben's  
eyes narrowed. "You're not scrawny," he said adamantly. "Don't  
say that."  
        The  
fierceness faded instantly, and Billy's smile turned sweet. "You're  
just as gorgeous inside as you are outside, aren't you, Ben?"  
        Ben blushed, again.  
Lord, how he hated that tendency.  
        Billy  
pulled him back, smiling. "You have better things to do,"  
he said huskily. "Touch me, Ben. I need you to touch me. And  
I want to touch you." His hands went to Ben's jeans, to that unbuttoned  
waistband, finding the zipper, pausing there. His eyes lifted to Ben's,  
clearly asking permission. Swallowing with a suddenly-dry throat, Ben  
nodded shallowly. Billy smiled in a very satisfied manner as his fingers  
shifted and the zipper slid down. He eased his fingers inside the fly,  
and his eyes widened.  
        "Holy.  
. . you some kind of masochist, Ben? I mean, Jesus. Starch?"  
        Ben looked at him, puzzled.  
"Excuse me?"  
        Billy  
shook his head, laughing. "God. I should know better. Never mind.  
Just, next time you do laundry, forget the starch. You'll be a lot happier,  
believe me. At least part of you will be." He grinned and winked.  
"Now, I'm a real soft-hearted guy, and I can't stand to see a wild  
thing all caged up like that, so I think we need to set you free, Benton  
Fraser. Unfortunately since I'm walking wounded here, guess you're going  
to have to do the honors." He tugged on Ben's belt-loops, pulling  
his jeans down an inch or so. "Off."  
        Ben  
hesitated. He wanted this, he did, desperately. But it was so . . .  
intimate. So frightening. To make himself vulnerable like this, after  
what had happened the last time he'd touched another human being in desire.  
But Billy wasn't like Victoria. . . he was, perhaps, not entirely ethical,  
but neither was he a criminal. And, he was hurting, and so was Ben.  
        "Please?"  
Billy asked, his voice warm, and urgent.  
        Propelled  
by that single word, Ben's hands went to his hips, finding the heavy  
denim, pushing it down a little more, hampered by his position. He rolled  
over, hung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat up, then stood,  
pulling and tugging at the fabric until the garment slid down to his  
knees, thinking, oddly, of Billy's comment earlier that evening about  
needing to buy looser jeans. He bent to push them the rest of the way  
down, and Billy moaned.  
        "Jesus,  
Ben. If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to kill me!  
But as long as you're up, you need to get a couple of things before you  
come back, okay?"  
        Fraser  
finished removing his jeans and absently folded them as he turned. "What  
things?"  
        Billy  
put his arms negligently behind his head. "My guitar case, for  
one. And I bet there's one of those little bottles of hand lotion in  
the bathroom. Bring that, too."  
        Ben  
nodded, put his jeans on the bureau, then went and retrieved the requested  
items, thinking they were a trifle odd under the circumstances, but trusting  
that Billy knew what he was doing, since he had a great deal more experience  
at this sort of thing than Ben did. When he returned, Billy took the  
lotion from him and set it on the little table built onto the wall beside  
the bed, then he opened the guitar case, flipped open the pick-safe,  
and withdrew a small packet, which he placed next to the lotion on the  
table, then closed the case and handed it back to Ben, who placed it  
next to the bed.  
        As  
Ben turned back from doing that, he saw what Billy had just taken from  
the case, and suddenly both requests made a great deal more sense. He  
felt himself flushing, both with embarrassment, and a sense of erotic  
anticipation so startlingly powerful it made him shiver. Billy reached  
out, wrapped his long fingers around Ben's hand and pulled gently.  
        "Come on, come back.  
You won't be cold for long."  
        Ben  
allowed himself to be drawn back, those words seeming strangely significant.  
He'd been cold for so long, but now he was thawing. Was that good, or  
bad? Did he even care? Not right now. Right now, he just wanted to  
feel again. He wanted to not be alone, just for once, to feel the warmth  
and passion of another human being. He stretched out next to Billy and  
was about to reach out, to begin his explorations anew, when suddenly  
he was enveloped in surprisingly muscular arms, and pulled in fully against  
that wiry body, Billy's mouth on his, strong and hot, tongue licking  
at his own, so hot, so good. He found himself on his back, with Billy  
over him, that angel mouth moving down his throat, little bites, nips,  
licks, a slick trail of tongue across his collarbone, then down to a  
nipple, sucking softly, nibbling. Ben arched into that touch with a  
groan of pure need, heat exploding through his body, every sensation  
seeming to end up, somehow, in his groin.  
        Feel.  
Yes. Feel. Shuddering with the intensity of it, Ben slid his hands down  
the sleek, narrow back, hands going beneath the loose waist of borrowed  
sweatpants, finding nothing else to hamper his touch, just hot, bare  
flesh. He cupped the shallow curves of buttocks in his hands, pulling  
Billy down, bringing his hardness firmly against his own erection, blazingly  
aware how little separated them. His boxer shorts felt rough and constricting,  
and as if reading his mind Billy lifted away, and those clever hands  
were slipping under the waistband, and carefully peeling them down.  
        "Lift." The  
word was breathed with husky impatience.  
        Ben  
lifted. His shorts were removed, discarded. Billy started kissing his  
way down Ben's body once more. Beautiful, wonderful, talented mouth.  
Driving him out of his mind, dragging little gasps and moans from reluctant  
lips, making him arch and twist. Agile tongue, lips like silk, teeth  
a shocking hardness that made him cry out when they tugged gently on  
erect nipple, or scraped against the protrusion of a hipbone. He tensed,  
fingers winding into the bedspread, as Billy's mouth skimmed across his  
belly, his tongue dipped into his navel, then traced a line down, down.  
. . he shivered with frustration as it moved sideways, along the line  
of demarcation between skin and pubic hair.  
        "Please,"  
he choked out, almost a sob.  
        The  
word hadn't even fully left his mouth when he felt fingers curl around  
him, firm, warm, and wonderful. Then even better, mouth on thigh, teeth  
gentle against the inner surface. He bucked, whimpering, as the fingers  
began to stroke. He lifted his head and looked down just in time to  
see that blond head descending, lips parted, eyes closed in what looked  
like rapt concentration, and then he was seeing and feeling in unison  
as wet heat enclosed him. His fingers clenched into full-fledged fists,  
his body arching up off the mattress. Billy put an arm across his hips  
to hold him down, and began to stroke and suck at the same time. Ben  
shook, gasping, needing. Tongue slid gently around him, flickering against  
the sensitive spot just below the head, then dipping into the hollow  
at the tip before swirling back down where it had been a moment earlier.  
        Billy paused for  
a moment, lifting his head, and leaned across him, fingers still stroking,  
then he was back down, almost before it registered that he'd been gone.  
A moment later Billy's hand slid lower, urging his thighs apart, and  
there were fingers slipping between his thighs, higher, cool, slippery  
fingers, and one was circling and then sliding inside him, gentle, and  
shockingly intimate. He heard himself make a raw, and overtly sexual  
sound that shocked him as much as that touch. . . inside him. Then that  
long finger was pressing deeper, and found something and oh, God, he'd  
never had any idea anything could feel that good! Just as Billy's mouth  
slipped off his aching flesh again, his last thread of control snapped  
and pleasure tore through him, lightning, thunder, delight.  
        Thunder  
gradually resumed its normal beat, and Ben realized it was just his heart.  
Lightning was just the starburst of colors against tight-closed eyelids.  
Delight was definite, and sweet. Sensations began to coalesce, Billy's  
head, heavy against his thigh, fingers playing idly in the pool of wetness  
on his belly. His own hands tangled in the covers. Sweat cooling all  
over him. Mouth dry from gasping breaths. Streaks of moisture, drying  
itchily down his temples.  
        A  
delicious lethargy lulled him toward sleep, until it dawned on him that  
he was the only one who'd gained release. With that he was reaching  
down with a clumsy hand to stroke what he could reach of Billy, which  
was one small ear, and his soft-crisp hair. Billy made a little mmming  
sound, which vibrated strangely against his thigh and woke surprising  
little echoes of arousal.  
        "Hey,"  
he said, conversationally. "You doing . . . okay?"  
        Ben  
nodded, then realized Billy probably couldn't see him, and attempted  
to speak. "Yes. Oh, yes. That was . . . it was . . . "  
For almost the first time in his life, words failed him. There simply  
wasn't one. Not in any language he knew. Wait. Perhaps there was.  
"Perfect."  
        Billy  
chuckled. "Ben, you need to get out more."  
        Ben  
thought about that, and sighed. "You're probably correct."  
        "Thought so."  
        He felt the bed  
shift a little, and opened his eyes to see Billy sitting up, no, standing  
up, and walking, or rather, limping toward the door. He looked almost  
comical with sweatpants sagging down around his hips, and rucked up above  
the elastic bandage on his left knee.  
        "If  
you need something, let me get it, you should spare your knee,"  
Fraser said, pushing up onto his elbows.  
        Billy  
looked over his shoulder and grinned. "I don't think this is something  
you can do for me. Kinda have to do it myself, if you know what I mean,"  
he said, nodding toward the bathroom.  
        "Ah,  
of course," Fraser settled back, feeling more relaxed than he had  
in . . . well, since he could remember. He heard water running, then  
a moment later heard Billy's voice.  
        "Heads  
up!"  
        He looked  
up, saw Billy grin from the bathroom door, lift an arm, then a white  
object came flying toward him. He managed to get a hand up fast enough  
to catch the warm, wet item before it hit him in the face, and discovered  
it was a washcloth. He smiled, and used it. He thought briefly about  
getting up and taking it back to the bathroom, then in a fit of deliberate  
and uncharacteristic laziness, he just dropped it on the wood-grained  
Formica of the night table. He put his arms under his head and closed  
his eyes for a moment.

* * *  


  
        Ben woke to find Billy  
curled up against him, head on his shoulder. The light next to the bed  
was off now, though the bathroom light provided indirect illumination.  
He felt heat rise in his face as he realized he must have fallen asleep  
before Billy returned to bed. How incredibly discourteous! Worse, he  
must have managed to sleep through Billy taking a shower as well, because  
now instead of cigarettes he smelled of shampoo and soap, and his hair  
was still damp. That gave him a slight feeling of reprieve, because  
it meant Billy hadn't been out of the shower all that long. He shifted  
a little, trying to see the clock-radio on the night table, though he  
hadn't been paying attention before that so looking at the clock really  
wouldn't help.  
        "Relax,  
Ben, it's only been about half an hour."  
        Billy  
definitely sounded amused. How had he known what Ben was doing?  
        "I'm so sor . .  
.," Ben began, utterly chagrined, only to have Billy reach up and  
put a hand over his mouth, cutting him off mid-word.  
          
"Stuff it. God only knows how many times I've done it, and for  
a fuck of a lot longer than half an hour, so settle down, okay?"  
        Ben nodded, and Billy  
lifted his hand off his mouth. Ben caught it, and brought it back down,  
placing a kiss in his palm, then licking the same spot. Billy shivered  
and turned toward him, hips moving, tight against his thigh, and Ben  
realized that the other man had shed the remainder of his clothing and  
was naked now, naked, and partly aroused. Steadily becoming more aroused,  
as Ben's tongue laved his palm, his wrist, and up his forearm. He paused  
to suck at the tender hollow at the elbow, not hard enough to raise a  
bruise, but enough to cause Billy's breath to catch, and for him to press  
harder into Ben's thigh.  
        There  
was something oddly reassuring about being able to feel that response,  
to know it was honest, and unfeigned. For years now he had wondered  
if Victoria's apparent pleasure had been just that, only apparent, not  
actual. That she could have been planning all she had, and still have  
gained any pleasure in his bed was beyond comprehension to him.  
        "Mmm, don't stop,"  
Billy said huskily.  
        Ben  
realized he had, and started again, moving steadily upward. The taste  
of ashes was gone from Billy's skin, he simply tasted clean, and wonderful.  
Taking the other man's hand in his, Ben stretched both their arms above  
their heads, and licked in the crease where arm molded to body. Billy  
shuddered, sighed, made a little pleasure-sound in his throat. Turning  
a little, Ben aligned their bodies, face-to-face, moving instinctively  
to bring their hips together. He was becoming aroused again, himself,  
by the taste of desire, the subtle scent of arousal, the feel of flesh  
against his own. So complex, so simple.  
        He  
slid his free hand down that spare body, reading it with his fingers,  
eyes closed, feeling each tensing that signaled sensitivity, hearing  
each caught breath, each sigh, finally coming to rest on one tense thigh.  
He smiled, knowing that tension, let his fingers trail across, hover  
briefly, then gently surround. A soft moan broke from his lover's parted  
lips as he pushed into his hand, flesh hard, and heated, and silky.  
Part of him startled at that thought, then he wondered why. Yes. Lover.  
However briefly.  
        Ben  
wrapped the word around him, it was as sensual as velvet against his  
need. Just for tonight he could be that, for this man who'd never had  
one before, and maybe for himself, as well. A chance to be the lover  
he wanted to be with someone else, and that was all right, for now, because  
there were no expectations between them. Just desire, and loneliness,  
and a little caring. Why it should be so easy with a stranger and so  
terribly hard with a friend was a mystery to him, but it was. He had  
to accept it. He leaned in and brushed his lips across the hard, angular  
curve of one cheekbone, followed it down to those parted lips, dry from  
panting, and moistened them with his tongue.  
        Billy  
arched into his hand again, bucking a little. Soft slide of skin on  
skin, so well-known, but so uncommon. He sealed their lips together,  
and began to stroke, steady, firm. This he knew. No mystery here.  
Brush of thumb across slick, hot skin. A shudder and groan. He set  
a slow, maddening pace, knowing it would make it better in the end.  
He skimmed his other hand down Billy's back, over the scant arc of buttock,  
down to thigh, curving beneath it to lift it over his own. Billy reacted  
eagerly, shifting his knee higher, hooking his calf behind Ben's hip,  
giving him the access he wanted.  
        He  
eased his fingers into that gap, gently caressing the soft, loose folds  
surrounding testes, hearing breath sucked in desperately through a nose,  
since mouth was closed by his own tongue. Remembering that stunning  
pleasure Billy had evoked within him, he searched, found. Wait. Not  
like this. Lifting his head he looked around, saw the lotion, still  
uncapped, on the nightstand. He reached for it, spilled some onto his  
fingers and reached down again, finding again, stroking gently around,  
over, hearing the soft sounds of pleasure, the gasping breaths. Now,  
now, in.  
        One of  
Billy's hands clenched on his shoulder, painfully hard, his whole body  
tense. And Ben remembered. He froze, unsure, angry with himself for  
forgetting. How could he have forgotten? How could he be so insensitive?  
Slowly, gently, he started to ease his hand back. Billy let go of his  
shoulder and slapped his hand tightly around Ben's wrist, halting him.  
        "No,"  
he breathed. "Don't."  
        "But  
I . . ."  
        "I  
want it. I want you."  
        Want  
him. Surely he didn't mean. . . Ben looked into his eyes. Swallowed  
hard. Oh yes. He did. Those eyes blazed like a summer sky, cloudless,  
and hot. The mixture of emotions that flashed through him then were  
bewildering. Excitement, panic, hope, dread and anticipation warred  
for dominance, none won out. He drew a shuddering breath.  
        "You  
. . . you're sure?"  
        "Yeah.  
I'm sure." Billy moved his hips in a little undulation, eyes fluttering  
closed, lower lip caught in his teeth. He made a soft sound, almost  
a grunt, and shivered, then his eyes flashed open again, pinning Ben  
like a knife. "Real sure. I want to know that, this way, with  
you. Not angry. Not mean. Not stoned or drunk. Like this. Just .  
. . this."  
        Oh,  
so much trust. Could he bear it? He felt like weeping. Why should  
this man trust him so? What was it about him that made people trust  
him, when it was so hard to trust himself? He tried to live up to that  
trust, but sometimes it was hard, so hard. Failure lurked at every turn.  
Here too. He didn't know if he could do this. He'd failed so badly  
before.  
        "Ben?  
Hey, you okay?"  
        He  
shook his head, eyes closed. "I'm afraid."  
        He  
sensed the surprise in the body he held so intimately, then lips feathered  
across his lightly, and withdrew.  
        "Yeah,  
me too," Billy said huskily. "But not enough to make me not  
want you. God Ben, we can do this. We can, you can. Come _on_ ,  
Ben, help me, I need this!"  
        The  
other man was practically begging. No, he was begging, flat out. There  
was salt on the lips that brushed his again and again.  
        "Please,"  
Billy whispered. His hips moved rhythmically, sliding himself along  
Ben's finger, shuddering. "More. Ben, give me more. All the way.  
I need to know what it's like, when it's right."  
        Billy  
let go of Ben's wrist and moved his newly-freed hand to Ben's cock, those  
amazingly long fingers cradling his erection, stroking, so good, so good.  
The actions, the words, the heat, all combined to overwhelm him. Ben  
gave up, resistance abandoned along with sanity, and he thrust into the  
hand on his cock, and slipped another finger into that tight channel.  
Billy moaned, bucking against him.  
        "Oh  
God, yes. Now, Ben. Please?"  
        Ben  
nodded. "Now. Yes."  
        With  
a sound like a sob, Billy twisted free of Ben's fingers, then reached  
over and snagged one of the small packets off the nightstand "This  
is for you more than me, I mean, you're so clean you almost squeak, but  
you don't know where the hell I've been, so . . ." he shrugged,  
and carefully tore open the packet with his teeth, removing the contents.  
He licked his palm, slid that wetness over Ben's erection, combining  
it with the pre-ejaculate already wetting him then centered the condom  
unerringly and used his hand to stroke it down into place, each stroke  
a caress as well. Ben shivered.  
        "How?"  
Ben managed to grate out, jaw clenched.  
        "Easiest  
from behind," a quick flash of teeth. "Nothing in the way  
like that."  
        That  
made sense, and even as he thought that, Billy was moving, rolling over,  
braced on hands and knees, waiting. Fear started to build again, and  
then Billy looked back over his shoulder, shaking his head.  
        "If  
you would just fucking stop _thinking_ , this would be a lot easier,  
Ben. So don't think. Just feel. Feel me around you. Feel me hot.  
Feel me com . . ."  
        Ben  
was on his knees then, between Billy's thighs, fingers sliding down to  
part and stroke still-slick flesh, easing one inside again, then another,  
to the sound of a moan, and the buck of hips against his touch. He stroked  
deep, hearing the soft sounds of need that came from both of them. He  
sensed no tension other than need, no pain, no fear. Feel. Just feel.  
Feel him, around you. Hot. Yes.  
        He  
eased his fingers out, shifted forward, placing himself against the entrance  
that seemed too small for this to possibly work, yet with just a little  
pressure, he began to slip inside. The thin film of latex made it easier,  
both because it was slicker than skin, and because it insulated him a  
little from the sensations threatening to overwhelm his control. He  
moved forward hesitantly, until Billy impatiently pushed back against  
him, firmly, and he slid in a good third of the way. Two gasps, in unison,  
one harsher.  
        "Oh  
god!" Billy's body arched, head up, and back, lip caught between  
teeth, ecstatic pain on his face like some suffering saint. "Wait!  
Don't move, just there, wait!" He sucked in air, let it out in  
a shuddering sigh, body taut, shaking. Somehow Ben obeyed, held still,  
fighting the nearly overwhelming need to move, to forge deeper; waiting,  
as commanded. After a moment the tension in the body beneath his eased.  
"Yes, there," Billy whispered. "Now. More."  
        More. So much more.  
He gave it, as gently as he could manage, every muscle trembling, and  
Billy took him, far past any pleasure he could have dreamed for this.  
Starting slowly, starting softly, but building, harder, too intense to  
resist the drive toward divine madness. Billy moved with him, a sleek,  
sweating creature of desire, burning, and beautiful. Harsh breath-sounds,  
a soft whimper. Ben froze, panting, listening for that sound again.  
Pain. Why? A moment of frantic wondering before he sensed the quiver  
in one thigh against his own, left thigh, the attempt to shift weight  
off that side. Yes, that. Only that. Relief.  
        "Knee?"  
he managed to whisper.  
        Billy  
nodded. Ben slid an arm around his waist and carefully maneuvered them  
down onto their right sides, spooned together. Billy sighed, and settled  
back closer with an explosive little sound of pleasure, leaning his head  
back, rubbing his soft, damp hair against Fraser's shoulder.  
        "Yeah,  
so good," he sighed in that smoky, inflammatory voice.  
        It  
was. Impossibly bold, Fraser slid his hand down the hard arch of chest,  
past the narrow waist, down to hip, then inward, fingers folding around  
the hard length couched in dark blonde silk. Billy moaned and bucked  
in his hand, then back against his cock. Again. Again. Oh, god. Heat  
spilled over his fingers, tremors, both internal and external shook the  
body against his, around his. Too much, that, too much. He shuddered,  
and then the pleasure was rising through him again, so deep, so sweet.  
He buried his face against Billy's neck and let the bliss overwhelm him.

* * *  


  
        Minutes, or maybe hours  
later, Billy sighed, and squirmed a little, just enough to hint his need.  
Ben understood, somehow, and reached down to anchor the condom in place  
as he slipped free. He eased away, and Billy protested that, sounding  
sleepy, reaching a hand out. Ben leaned forward to kiss the back of  
his neck.  
        "Shhh,  
I'll be right back," he said reassuringly, as he drew back and got  
up.  
        As he headed  
for the bathroom to dispose of things, and to duplicate Billy's practicality  
with the washcloth, he thought about what he'd just done. And felt no  
guilt. None. Stunning. Somehow he had expected that once he'd given  
in, once he'd done this, indulged himself like this, he would feel guilty.  
He didn't. It had been wonderful. Freeing. Nothing like after . .  
. her. With a sense of wonder, Ben realized that now he could replace  
his sad, worn memories of a woman who'd betrayed him. Realized, too,  
that loving this stranger felt more right than that had.  
        If  
only he'd known. Sometimes it was possible to be too naive. It was  
strangely amusing, at this late date, to realize what he'd felt for Victoria  
had probably been just the desperate need and projections of a sexually  
repressed and socially immature male. He looked in the mirror as he  
ran the water until it was hot, saw himself. Naked, stubbled, mussed,  
beard-burned, swollen-lipped. A human being. Thoroughly human. A smile  
curved his mouth as he realized not a soul he knew would recognize him  
at this moment. He barely recognized himself.  
        He  
washed up, then retrieved a washcloth from the stack above the toilet,  
wet it down and headed back out to the bedroom. Billy was sprawled on  
his back, one hand tucked beneath his head, one knee cocked out to the  
side, taking up most of the room on the bed. His eyes were closed, his  
breathing slow, and even, dozing, probably. Ben smiled and sat down next  
to him, started to lean over to clean him up with the washcloth, then  
stopped, thoughtfully. Something primitive stirred in him, some strange  
need to know this, as well. He bent, and tasted.  
        "Hey!  
No! Stop that!" Billy said, instantly alert, reaching down to  
push Ben away.  
        "No?"  
Ben said, disappointed, the bitter-salt flavor lingering on his tongue,  
complex and fascinating.  
        "Yeah,  
'no.' That, uh, kind of defeats the purpose of having safe sex."  
        Ben processed that.  
"Oh. Yes. Right you are."  
        "I  
know," Billy said, looking smug.  
        "However,  
you did say you were not . . . " Ben began, constitutionally unable  
to let it rest there.  
        "I'm  
not, but it's the principle of the thing. Don't want to teach you bad  
habits." Billy winked broadly.  
        Ben  
had to chuckle at that, and he used the washcloth instead of his tongue  
to finish what he'd started. Billy sighed, and stretched, then winced  
as he flexed his injured knee. Ben noticed that Billy had rewrapped  
the elastic bandage incorrectly after his shower, and he put the damp  
washrag on the nightstand with the other one, and reached to undo the  
metal clip that held the bandage in place so he could unwind it.  
        "Ben, you're not  
my mother," Billy said in affectionate exasperation.  
        Ben  
looked up at him, amused. "Probably just as well, since if that  
were the case then what we just did would have been illegal in even more  
places than it already is."  
        Billy  
guffawed. "True. Hey, never thought about that. So, does this  
mean you have to turn in your badge or whatever now that I've lured you  
off the straight and narrow?"  
        "I  
don't believe so."  
        "Good.  
Wouldn't want to be responsible for that, you know."  
        "But  
you don't mind being responsible for luring me in the first place?"  
        Billy grinned. "Hell  
no. I debauched a fucking Mountie. That's got to earn me some serious  
points somewhere. Now would you stop messing around with my knee and  
get back in bed?"  
        Ben  
glanced at the clock, was shocked to see it was nearly two. Only three  
and a half hours until the time he normally rose for the day. He hesitated.  
        "Have to go?"  
        The words were carefully  
neutral. Ben's gaze shifted instantly to Billy's face. His eyes were  
closed, his face as dispassionate as his voice. Perhaps too much so?  
Or was he just projecting again, projecting how he would feel if the  
situation were reversed?  
        "No.  
Not yet," he said, quietly.  
        A  
faint hint of dimples appeared around Billy's mouth. "You won't  
hurt my feelings if you do. I know you have a life. If you have to  
go, you have to go."  
        "I  
don't have to go, I was just a little surprised by how late, or rather,  
how early, it is."  
        Billy  
opened his eyes and looked over at the clock. His eyebrows lifted, creating  
several parallel rows of furrows across his brow. "Yeah. Jesus.  
That was not exactly a five-minute fuck, was it?" He grinned.  
"You sure you never did this before?"  
        Ben  
felt a flush moving up his face and looked away.  
        "Never  
mind, the answer's written all over your face," Billy said drily.  
"You done with that?" He nodded toward his knee.  
        "Yes."  
        "Good, then come  
on." He shifted over to make room. "Enough?"  
        Ben  
eyed the space he'd made next to him, and nodded. "Enough, but  
wouldn't you like to be under the covers instead of on top of them?"  
        Billy looked at the bed,  
and grinned. "Oh, yeah. Forgot about that." He rolled out  
of bed and together they turned down the covers. Billy slid back in  
readily, Ben sat for a moment at the edge of the bed, feeling odd. Billy  
eyed him speculatively.  
        "Not  
used to sleeping with anyone else, are you? Male or female?"  
        Ben shook his head.  
"No."  
        "God,  
what a fucking waste. Is everyone you know blind _and_ stupid?"  
        "No, it isn't them,  
it's me. I'm just not very good with people."  
        "Yeah?  
So what am I? A space alien?"  
        Ben  
laughed involuntarily. "No, though compared to what I know, you  
might as well be."  
        Billy  
thought about that for a moment and then chuckled. "Okay, yeah,  
I get that. Now will you lay down, damn it? I mean, for God's sake  
the fucking part's over. Now it's just the after part." He stopped  
suddenly, looking thoughtful, then his gaze moved back to Ben's face.  
"Or is that the problem?"  
        Hoping  
to deflect the question, Ben lay down and busied himself for a moment  
getting as comfortable as he could, which wasn't very. Billy turned  
onto his side, propped his head on one hand, and regarded him steadily  
until Ben turned and looked at him.  
        "What?"  
he asked a little irritably.  
        "It  
is, isn't it? It's not the sex that's the problem. It's the rest of  
it."  
        Ben sighed.  
"There's no problem. I'm simply more used to being solitary."  
        "Why?"  
        Why. Such a deceptively  
simple question. "I'm not an easy person to get along with,"  
he confessed after a moment.  
        "Then  
they're not even trying." Billy said flatly. "You know what  
I think? I think they're jealous of you, so they're mean to you to make  
themselves feel better. Assholes."  
        Ben  
couldn't let Billy blame anyone else, not when he knew where the problem  
lay. "No, really. I understand that I'm not easy to be around.  
I think I annoy people. I tend to set my standards somewhat high. That's  
not easy to live with."  
        "Ben,  
you don't set other people's standards. You only set your own. It's  
just seeing you meet them that makes people weird. Makes them aware  
they could do better. Look, I know what I'm talking about. I spent  
years being jealous of guys like you."  
        Ben  
frowned. "Why?"  
        Billy  
made a little sound of disbelief. "Why? Fuck, are you blind too?  
Have you ever looked at yourself? Have you ever taken a step back and  
really looked. I mean, you look-- well, the way you look, and you're  
smart, and good . . ." He shook his head. "I can't believe  
you don't get it. You're what we all want to be, Ben, but aren't."  
        "You don't want  
to be me," Ben said bleakly. "It hurts."  
        Billy  
reached out and pulled him into his arms. "I know. Hurts to be  
most of us. That's what being human is. I think if it doesn't hurt  
sometimes, it means you stopped feeling, and if you stop feeling, you're  
dead. But it doesn't hurt all the time. Sometimes it's good. Like  
when you pick up your guitar and you play, and you hit every fucking  
note perfect and it's like it's coming out of your soul, not a piece  
of wood. That hurts a little too, but it's a good hurt. Or-- and I'll  
kill you if you tell anyone I said this-- or you're on a back road late  
at night and you pull over and get out to piss and look up and notice  
the fucking sky. And you just stand there with your dick out like a  
moron, just looking at the sky because it's so damned big, and so damned  
beautiful. That's good. Your turn. Tell me something good."  
        Ben thought for a moment,  
pulled out a memory, one he cherished often here in the city. "A  
snowfield under the full moon, like a blanket of diamonds, the air so  
cold it makes your teeth hurt."  
        "Perfect.  
Good. Another one."  
        Another  
image popped into his head. "Opening a car door into Alderman Orsini's  
groin."  
        Billy  
chuckled. "I'll have to take your word for that one, but it sounds  
like fun. Another one?"  
        Face  
against Billy's shoulder, Ben inhaled slowly, smelling the faint tang  
of sweat, his own, and Billy's. Strangely intimate. "Being held.  
Like this."  
        Billy's  
hand stroked along his back, and he sighed. "Yeah. Definitely.  
One more?"  
        "A  
sailing ship flying over the lake, all her sales unfurled like wings."  
        "You got some interesting  
'goods' there, Ben. But see? You just have to keep remembering them.  
Bet you have lots more. That's what I do, when it hurts too much. Find  
something good to remember instead of getting stuck in the bad ones.  
And don't always blame yourself for everything, either. I know how that  
is. It's always easy to figure you're the one with the problem, but  
you know, sometimes you're not. When I'm clear, I can see that, about  
. . . Joe, and me. He was the one with the problems. But for a long  
time I thought it had to be my fault. Hard not to slip into that again,  
like earlier. Thanks, for not letting me."  
        Ben  
nodded. "It is hard, not to feel that. Especially when things  
go so wrong . . ." he sighed, thinking of Victoria again. Twenty-twenty  
hindsight was such a useless thing.  
        "Okay.  
Tell me. What did go wrong? I mean, I can tell it was something to  
do with relationships, just like me. But you keep getting me to talk  
and then clamming up yourself. You're real good at that. Now it's your  
turn."  
        "It's  
nothing."  
        "Bullshit.  
Nothing doesn't fuck a person up like this. Tell me."  
        Ben  
closed his eyes. He swallowed. And then he spoke. He let it out.  
All of it. Victoria. Jolly. Dief. Ray Vecchio. The diamonds. Everything.  
And through it all, Billy held him, those long hands always in touch,  
occasionally stroking his back, fanning over his shoulder, once reaching  
out to hand him a tissue from the motel-supplied box in the night-stand  
drawer. And he listened. Encouraged. Let him talk it all out, all  
the way. Ben hadn't done that since it had happened. Not with anyone.  
He had felt too guilty to talk to Ray Vecchio about it, and was too fearful  
to talk to Ray Kowalski about it, afraid he would be disgusted by it.  
Inspector Thatcher wasn't interested, Lieutenant Welsh too busy, Francesca.  
. . well, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. His father was a lost  
cause. But Billy just listened.  
        After  
he finished, Billy was silent for a moment, the he whistled softly.  
"Holy shit, Ben. Guess that'll teach you to fuck chicks, won't  
it?"  
        And that  
was just so perfectly right, that Ben started to laugh. He laughed until  
the tears started, and then he cried until he was cried out. Finally,  
exhausted, he lay with his face against that smooth golden shoulder,  
feeling the dense, narrow bones close beneath the surface, and noticed  
that Billy's hand had come to rest over the scar on his back. The scar  
where Ray Vecchio had shot him to keep him away from Victoria. Of course,  
he hadn't done that, not really. It had been an accident. But the end  
result had been the same. Thank God. It was the first time he'd thought  
of that outcome without a certain wistfulness, and speculation what it  
would have been like to go with her. Now he was pretty sure the sex  
would have palled within a week or two and he'd have thrown everything  
away for nothing. And he would never have met Ray Kowalski.  
        Ben  
wondered for a moment if he should feel badly for thinking of Ray right  
now, as he lay in bed with another man, but he decided he didn't. There  
was no deceit here. No pretense. He knew he loved Ray, and Billy knew  
it too. It just was a fact. Like the facts that below a certain temperature  
water turned to ice, and above a certain temperature it turned to steam.  
He felt as if he'd been both, tonight. Billy's fingers traced the scar,  
then dropped to lie still against his skin.  
        "Done?"  
he asked.  
        Ben nodded.  
"Yes, thank you."  
        Billy  
snorted. "Thank you? Can it with the polite shit, Mountie. Don't  
think fuck-buddies need that. Can't really see anyone saying 'would  
you please suck my cock, thank you kindly,' not even you." He chuckled.  
"Jesus. It's a good thing we're in Chicago, not LA or we'd be forming  
a twelve-step group for guys with totally screwed-up ex-lovers, though  
at least Joe never tried to ruin my life deliberately. What time do  
you have to be at work?"  
        A  
little disconcerted by the abrupt change of topic, Ben spoke automatically.  
"I usually get up at five thirty so I can take Diefenbaker out for  
a run first."  
        "Five  
thirty? In the morning? Is there such an hour?" Billy asked,  
grinning. "Well, no way are you getting up at five thirty, that's  
less than three hours from now. What time do you really have to be at  
work?"  
        "The  
consulate opens at nine. I should be there by eight-thirty."  
        "Okay, that's better.  
Tell you what, I could come over with you and take the wolf out for you  
so you can sleep a little later. I mean, if you think that's okay."  
        The offer was made hesitantly,  
as if he expected to be refused. Ben thought about it. He'd walked  
Diefenbaker shortly before Billy's arrival, he would probably be fine  
waiting a little later than normal. Also, he'd had clearly liked the  
man, so he probably wouldn't object. He would have to go on a lead,  
as Billy didn't know the city and if Dief went exploring they could get  
lost. Still, just to the park and back shouldn't be difficult. And  
it was after two, and he really needed to get some rest. Slowly, he  
nodded. "That would be kind of you."  
        A  
smile lit Billy's face. "Greatness! I mean, I may not be good  
for much but I can walk a dog. Or, I mean a wolf. At least I think  
I can. . . uh, he doesn't eat cats or anything, does he?"  
        Ben  
smiled back, unable to resist the brilliance of Billy's smile. "No,  
unfortunately the only thing Diefenbaker is likely to try to hunt down  
is a bakery or a hot-dog vendor."  
        Billy  
chuckled. "A wolf after my own heart. Okay, it's settled, then."  
He picked up the phone next to the bed, and as Ben watched, wondering  
who he could possibly be calling at this hour, he dialed, and waited.  
A moment later he was speaking again. "Yeah, this is room four-twelve.  
I need a wake-up call for seven-thirty am. It's important. Don't forget  
it, put a big star by it or something. What's your name? Ernie? Look,  
Ernie, I'll see you get a ten if I get that call. And do you guys have  
coffee in the . . . yeah, good. That's good. Thanks." He hung  
up again, looked at Ben and lifted his eyebrows. "What?"  
        "Nothing."  
        Billy narrowed his eyes.  
"I've about had it with that word. If you say it again I'll have  
to make you eat it. What?"  
        "It  
really was no . . ." Ben stopped suddenly, seeing the gleam in  
Billy's eyes, and revised his sentence. "I just wouldn't have thought  
to do that. I was trying to determine the best way to make certain I  
awoke in time."  
        Billy  
lay back, one corner of his mouth lifting in a wry smile. "You  
live in hotel rooms long enough, you get to know all the tricks. Now,  
it's past bedtime for Mounties. And even for guitarists. Come on."  
He turned over, tucking his pillow beneath his head, and reached back  
to find Ben's hand with his own and pull it across his chest, which brought  
Ben up against his back. Billy sighed, a little smile curving his mouth.  
"Night."  
        "Good  
night," Ben replied, feeling a little awkward, a little unsure,  
but the relaxation in Billy's slim frame was contagious, and his eyelids  
began to droop within moments. His last thought as he dropped off to  
sleep was that it was strangely pleasant to share a bed like this.

* * *  


  
        If Turnbull thought it  
odd that Fraser arrived at work that morning in a taxi with a man who  
bore a striking resemblance to Ray Kowalski, but wasn't, he kept it to  
himself. Thankfully the Inspector wasn't in yet. Ben managed not to  
blush in front of Turnbull, but he knew he couldn't have maintained his  
composure in front of her. He took a moment to feed Diefenbaker in the  
kitchen and left Billy there with him making himself a cup of tea to  
follow his motel coffee as he went to his office and quickly changed  
into his brown uniform, having showered and shaved at the hotel earlier.  
        That had nearly  
turned into a disaster, he thought, smiling a little as he hung up his  
clothes. Billy had interesting ideas about showering, which had resulted  
in them arriving at that consulate nearly twenty minutes later than planned.  
But that had mostly been Ben's fault, since he was never one to leave  
a favor unreturned, and as Billy pointed out, he seemed to have a little  
problem with the concept of 'a quickie.' He really felt quite unreasonably  
happy, except for a lingering, background melancholia over Ray in Acapulco.  
        He thought about  
Billy's insistence that he should speak to Ray about his feelings, and  
shivered a little. A terrifying thought. Was it better to stay silent  
than to risk losing everything? Was it logical to take a step into the  
unknown, to risk everything you had, on the chance of gaining more?  
He'd never been a gambler, the whole idea of it was foreign to him but  
something in him was saying it was time to take a chance. Something  
not logical. Something . . . instinctive. For a moment he was back  
on the deck of a sailing ship, admitting that logic doesn't always work.  
Then he was in the close, so close confines of a tiny submersible. "Trust  
me. For once, just trust me." Ray's voice was almost real. He  
leaned his head against the wall and sighed. Suddenly hearing the Inspector's  
voice as she greeted Turnbull, he quickly straightened and opened his  
door.  
        "What  
is that and why is it there?" Thatcher was asking.  
        "I  
believe it's a guitar case, sir," Turnbull answered. "And  
it belongs to Constable Fraser's guest."  
        "Constable  
Fraser has a guest?" Thatcher asked, sounding surprised.  
        Fraser stepped into the  
hall, saw his superior standing in the hallway frowning at Billy's guitar  
case where he'd left it by the reception desk. "Good morning, sir."  
        Her gaze shifted to him,  
flickered down, then up, as it normally did. At one time he'd thought  
she was simply checking to be sure he was properly uniformed, but he  
knew better now, although she had chosen long ago not to act on it, and  
that was just as well. It would be a difficult situation all around.  
        "Good morning,  
Constable Fraser. You have a guest?" Her eyes went to the guitar  
again.  
        "I'm  
assisting Mr. Tallent in obtaining a replacement passport. His was stolen  
last night in a robbery," Fraser said, utterly factual. Leaving  
out a great deal. A faint heat suffused him, and he had to resist an  
appallingly strong urge to grin at that thought. Good lord, he'd have  
to be very careful. The inspector was quite observant.  
        "A  
robbery? Of a Canadian citizen?" Thatcher sounded properly concerned.  
"I trust he wasn't injured!"  
        "Minor  
injuries only. I saw to them myself. He didn't feel a hospital was  
needed."  
        She  
looked around. "I'd like to speak to him."  
        "Certainly,  
sir, this way," Fraser headed for the kitchen.  
        "Constable!"  
        He stopped a few feet  
from the door, and turned. "Sir?"  
        "You  
put this gentleman in the _kitchen_?" she hissed, incredulously.  
        "I asked him to,"  
a voice said.  
        Fraser  
looked up to see Billy at the door of the kitchen. His eyes widened,  
and the flush he'd felt when thinking about what they'd done surged hotter.  
It wasn't until he heard a slight intake of breath from Thatcher that  
he knew he wasn't imagining the magnetic pull he felt. The man was simply  
radiating sensuality. It was as if he'd turned on a switch, and the  
glow of it surrounded him like some strange, utterly worldly halo. Billy  
smiled, and the feeling intensified exponentially.  
        "I  
wanted some tea," Billy said, holding out his mug. "Plus Dief's  
in here. Had to say hi."  
        "You  
know the wolf?" Thatcher asked, sounding confused.  
        "Yeah,  
we met last night. Speaking of meeting, I'm Billy, Billy Tallent."  
He held out one long-fingered hand.  
        Thatcher  
shook it, not quite coolly. "Thatcher. Inspector, I mean, Meg  
Thatcher, Mr. Tallent."  
        Billy  
smiled again, and faint color rose in the inspector's face. Ben was  
puzzled by her reaction, knowing how she felt about Ray, and considering  
that this man was so like him. But perhaps he shouldn't be. His own  
reaction to Billy, while colored by that resemblance, had been just as  
intense.  
        "Call  
me Billy, Ms. Thatcher. Everyone does."  
        "Forgive  
me, but do I know you?"  
        Billy  
chuckled, an intimate sound. "Well, aside from apparently looking  
a lot like some friend of Ben's here, you might have heard of the band  
I play with. Jenifur."  
        "Jenifur?"  
She frowned. "Weren't they on some magazine recently?"  
        "Yeah, a couple,  
but you're probably thinking of Spin. That was pretty recent, you might've  
seen it."  
        "I  
may have, yes."  
        She  
studied Billy, a tiny frown between her eyebrows, looking as puzzled  
as Ben had felt a moment earlier. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she  
darted a glance at Fraser. He gazed back at her, waiting, hoping he  
looked innocent. She mouthed a word at him. 'Ray.' She'd just placed  
the resemblance. Not surprising it had taken her longer than it had  
him. Billy hadn't been . . . radiating like that the night before.  
Without that 'glow,' he looked far more like Ray. He nodded back at  
her, confirming it, and she looked flustered by his nod. He found it  
traitorously amusing to realize she'd been attracted to Billy, and clearly  
now found that disconcerting in light of his resemblance to Fraser's  
partner, and her usual feeling for him.  
        "Well,  
Mr. Tallent," she said briskly, back to her usual efficient self.  
"I hope that your stay from here on out is more pleasant than it  
has been to date. I'm simply appalled that you were assaulted."  
        Billy shot a glance at  
Ben, who felt his color rising. "Well, Ben, I mean Constable Fraser  
here, has taken very good . . . care of me."  
        Ben  
thought he was going to hyperventilate at Billy's deliberate double-entendre,  
but it went right over the Inspector's head and she nodded.  
        "Good,  
I'm pleased to hear that. If there's anything more we can do for you,  
just let us know."  
        Billy  
nodded solemnly. "I will, thanks."  
        "Well,  
then. Constable, carry on." With that she turned and headed for  
her office, leaving Ben alone with Billy, who grinned and winked.  
        "Pretty good, hunh?"  
        Ben swallowed, moistening  
his mouth enough to speak. "That was . . . amazing."  
        Billy  
scuffed a toe against the floor and looked up through his eyelashes mischievously.  
"Aw, shucks, 'tweren't nuthin', really. Living in LA, you learn  
to shmooze with the best of 'em." He looked past Ben toward Thatcher's  
office and nodded. "So, do they make you all submit a portfolio  
to work here or something? I mean, you, her, that big guy at the door,  
Turnbull?" Ben nodded confirmation and Billy went on. "You  
all look like you came from central casting. I mean, this place is like  
a fucking advertisement! 'Come to Canada, where all our men are buff  
and gorgeous and all our women are strong and beautiful.'" He laughed.  
"Of course, it's all a big tease because they won't let you in unless  
you you're the right sort." He shot a look at Ben, and his cynical  
expression softened. "Sorry. I forgot. You believe in Truth,  
Justice and the Canadian Way. Hell, you almost make me believe in it  
too. So, where do you usually take the chow-hound for his walk?"  
         Ben felt a little dizzy  
at the rapid-fire changes of subject, but he managed to keep up. "There's  
a park not far from here. Three blocks east, one north."  
        "Okay.  
Just tell me which way is east and which way is north, and I'll make  
it."  
        Fraser  
stared at him, trying to decide if he was joking, finally deciding not.  
"You can tell what direction is east by the sun."  
        Billy  
grinned. "Yeah, maybe if you're a Mountie. The rest of us mortals  
need directions. Just come over to the door and point, okay? That's  
all I need."  
        He  
walked into the kitchen and over to the back door of the Consulate.  
With a sigh Ben followed him, wondering why he was always surprised to  
find that so many people were ignorant of even the most basic survival  
skills. He reached out to open the door, and suddenly found himself  
pushed up against the door, a slim form pinning him there. He stared  
into the mischief-filled eyes, heart suddenly racing, and not just from  
fear of discovery. Turnbull probably wouldn't even notice, but the Inspector.  
. .  
        "I can't  
believe you fell for that," Billy said softly, lips inches away  
from his own. "You shouldn't be allowed out without a keeper."  
Those lips descended, far too briefly, hot tongue flicking swiftly across  
his own, then Billy was stepping back, letting go of him. "Got  
a leash?"  
        Ben  
blinked, utterly baffled. "Leash?" he asked weakly, remembering  
a certain nightclub from which he'd had to rescue a young woman. There  
had been people there with leashes. Of course, there had also been that  
person in the leather Mountie tunic, sans trousers . . . he shuddered.  
Not his cup of tea.  
        "Yeah,  
leash. You know. For the wolf. What'd you think I meant?"  
        A flash of teeth told  
him that Billy knew exactly what he thought he'd meant. "Ah. Leash.  
Yes, I'll just . . . I'll just go get it. From my office." Good  
heavens, he sounded mentally deficient. He shook himself. "I believe  
I neglected to tell you that when issuing instructions to Diefenbaker,  
you'll need to make sure he can see you speaking."  
        Billy  
looked over at Dief, who was cleaning his bowl diligently, searching  
out any remaining morsels of food. "How come?"  
        "He's  
deaf, but he reads lips well."  
        Billy's  
eyes shifted instantly back to Ben's face. "He reads lips?"  
        "Yes. In English  
and Inuktitut. A little French as well, but he's not as fluent in that."  
        Billy stared at him.  
"Your wolf is deaf?"  
        Ben  
nodded.  
        "But he reads lips  
in three languages?"  
        Ben  
nodded again. Billy shook his head. "Fuck. A deaf, lip-reading,  
multilingual wolf. That is so . . . so you, Ben. I think you broke  
the damned mold." His gaze dropped to Ben's mouth again, and Ben  
held his breath for a moment, half in fear, half in anticipation, but  
then Billy ran a hand through his hair and shot a rueful glace at him.  
"Sorry. Not used to behaving myself. I'll be good. Maybe I'm  
the one who needs a fucking leash. Better go get it before I forget  
myself again."  
        Ben  
nodded, but found himself just standing there watching him for a moment,  
still amazed that he'd lain skin-to-skin with the other man, that he'd  
been _inside_ him, felt the hot, slick essence of his pleasure pour  
over his fingers. He swallowed heavily, fighting his body's natural  
reaction to those thoughts as Billy limped over to the stove to pour  
hot water from the kettle into his mug. Limped. It struck Ben then,  
that he'd completely forgotten that Billy had an injured knee. He shouldn't  
be walking to the park and back. He frowned. How could he have forgotten  
that?  
        "What're  
you staring at me like that for?" Billy asked, uncertainly.  
        "Your knee."  
        Billy looked down at  
his leg. "What about it?'  
        "You  
can't walk Dief. You might damage your knee."  
        Billy  
sighed. "Jesus, Ben, I thought we got that 'you're not my mom'  
thing straightened out already."  
        Fraser  
shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just can't allow you to hurt yourself  
on my behalf. I'll simply have to ask the Inspector for a half hour's  
leave time to take Dief out myself."  
        Billy  
crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. "You are not going  
to take fucking leave time to walk the damned wolf. I'm walking the  
wolf. My knee is fine."  
        "You're  
limping." Ben pointed out.  
        "Yeah,  
it hurts, but it's just the cut. It's hardly even swollen any more.  
You even said so in the shower."  
        "I  
also told you that you should see a doctor about it, just to be sure.  
You don't want to take chances with joint injuries. It's not a problem  
for me to walk Dief, I'm sure the Inspector will allow me to take time."  
        "Yeah, and what  
are you going to tell her when she asks why you didn't do it before work?  
That you couldn't because you were giving me a blow job in the shower?  
I don't fucking think so."  
        Ben's  
face went hot, and he was thankful that Billy was keeping his voice down  
because that would have been a very embarrassing thing to have overheard.  
But he had a point. The inspector would ask. And he wasn't good at  
lying. It was a dilemma. He felt like a computer that had just locked  
up, frozen, unable to process.  
        "You  
stay here," Billy ordered suddenly.  
        He  
looked up as Billy brushed past him, limping determinedly toward Thatcher's  
office. Oh dear. What was he . . . Billy lifted a hand and knocked,  
was admitted. The door closed behind him. Fraser stared at the door,  
for almost the first time in his life tempted to deliberately eavesdrop.  
No. He wouldn't do that. Five minutes passed. Six. Eight. He was  
just starting to wonder if he needed to stage a rescue when the door  
opened, and Billy stepped out again, laughing and smiling as he shook  
the Inspector's hand.  
        "Thanks,  
appreciate it, really," he said, that devastating charm radiating  
off him again. So strange how he could turn it on and off, like a light.  
"I'll make sure you get comp passes the next time we're through  
here."  
        "That  
would be very enjoyable," Thatcher said, smiling back, standing  
too close, her hand still held in Billy's. Then she recovered herself,  
stepped back, slipped her hand free and looked over at Ben. "Constable?  
In my office."  
        Ben  
swallowed hard. What on earth had Billy said to her? He forced himself  
to move forward, to step into her office as if he wasn't as nervous as  
the proverbial cat.  
        "Yes,  
sir?" he prompted, steeling himself for a lecture.  
        "I'm  
assigning you to look after Mr. Tallent until his documents and bank  
cards are replaced. He needs transportation and general assistance,  
since he's unfamiliar with the city. His knee injury is bothering him,  
and he'd like to see a doctor about it, and all things considered, I  
suspect you're more suited to such things than is Turnbull, you know  
how sensitive Turnbull is. And Billy, I mean, Mr. Tallent, said he likes  
the wolf, for some reason. So, see to it. You may take the consulate  
car."  
        Ben was  
still processing that a moment later when she looked up at him again,  
impatiently. "Is there a problem, Constable Fraser?"  
        "Ah,  
no sir. None at all." He took a step toward the door, looked back  
at her. "You're . . . ?" Thinking better of it, he shook his  
head as she looked a question at him. "Never mind. I'll see to  
it."  
        Billy wasn't  
in the hallway, or in the kitchen. Nor was Diefenbaker. Ben sighed  
and went to get his hat, thinking dark thoughts about stubborn blonds.  
He opened the door to his office and stopped in his tracks as he found  
Billy at his desk, one foot propped negligently on its surface. He  
took a look at Ben and started to snicker.  
        "Jesus,  
Ben, you should see your face!"  
        Ben  
tried to school his features to a less poleaxed expression, and Billy  
subsided, chuckling.  
        "Am  
I good or am I good?" he queried with an unrepentant grin. "Now.  
Outta the uniform. Not that you're not cute in it, in fact, you're damned  
cute in it, but I'm not having you mistaken for my fucking chauffeur."  
        Ben strangled the impulse  
to chide Billy for his language. Somehow it was harder to do here in  
the Consulate. "Very well, I'll change if you'll allow me a moment  
or two of privacy."  
        Billy's  
eyebrows lifted, creating those lines across his forehead that seemed  
to make his surprise even more expressive. "Privacy? Like you've  
got something I haven't seen before?"  
        Ben  
shot him quelling look. "Under the circumstances, it might seem  
a trifle unseemly."  
        Billy  
looked amused. "Ooooh. Unseemly. Cool. I can get into unseemly."  
        "The Inspector has  
a tendency to forget to knock," Ben said, a little desperately.  
He simply couldn't do this. Not here. Not in his office. He had to  
keep these aspects of himself completely separate, or he would never  
be able to get anything done. "And she . . . well . . . she . .  
." He stopped. The less said the better.  
        Billy  
eyed him speculatively, then a big grin spread over his face. "You  
want me to stand guard and protect you from the big bad bosslady?"  
        Ben nodded. "Please."  
        "Can do," Billy  
swung his foot off the desk and levered himself out of the chair. "Off  
to sentry duty. Just don't take too long or I might have to come in  
and find out why."  
        He  
brushed past Ben on his way out of the room, very close. So close that  
his hand just happened to sweep across Ben's crotch. Realizing that  
Turnbull was standing at the reception desk mere meters away, Ben prayed  
that he hadn't noticed and closed the door, already unbuttoning his jacket.

* * *  


  
        Fraser found it difficult  
trying to keep an eye on both Billy and Diefenbaker at the same time,  
even though only one of them was a moving target. While he trusted Dief,  
there were other dogs loose in the park and one never knew about the  
manners of other animals. Billy was sitting, or rather slouching, on  
a bench across the way, and he was so still that Fraser might have thought  
he was dozing behind his sunglasses save that every so often his head  
would move slightly, betraying his interest in a group of children enjoying  
the playground equipment.  
        He  
pondered that, until the person with the dogs called them and left the  
park, at which point he felt able to relax a little and turn more of  
his attention to his companion. Moving over to the bench, Ben took a  
seat next to him and they sat quietly, soaking in the morning sun. Ben  
felt his eyes drifting closed and blinked them back open, sitting up  
straighter to force himself to wakefulness.  
        "Up  
past your bedtime?" Billy inquired blandly.  
        Ben  
felt a smile curve his mouth. "A bit."  
        "Well,  
still got the room if you need a nap."  
        "It  
would seem terribly slothful to sleep during the day."  
        Billy  
chuckled. "Sloth is good. It puts everything in perspective."  
        "Is that what you're  
doing now? Getting perspective?"  
        Billy's  
head swivelled toward him and he felt that bright, searching gaze on  
his face even through the dark glasses. He kept his own gaze fixed on  
Diefenbaker, his expression carefully neutral. After a moment Billy  
looked out at the wolf, too.  
        "Yeah.  
Perspective," he said quietly.  
        "You're  
thinking of your daughter?"  
        Billy  
was silent for a moment, then one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile  
that was more of a grimace. "You ever think about working for one  
of those 1-900-Psychic hotlines?"  
        "I'm  
not psychic, I simply noticed you were watching the children, and remembered  
what you said last night."  
        "Oh.  
Good. 'Cause I don't think you'd like being in my head."  
        "I've  
often thought that would be an uncomfortable experience."  
        "What  
would? Being in my head?" Billy asked, sounding surprised.  
        "Well, not yours,  
specifically. Rather, being, as you said, inside someone else's head.  
I would imagine that it could be quite distressing to learn what others  
really are thinking and feeling. Especially about oneself."  
        "I don't think you  
need to worry on that score, Ben."  
        Ben  
looked at his hands. "I suspect you're wrong about that. I know  
that many people find me to be difficult. Odd even."  
        "Hey,  
if you're not odd, you're not cool. It's a compliment."  
        "I  
rather doubt that most people would agree with your definition."  
        "So? Who gives  
a shit? Do you like yourself?"  
        Ben  
thought about it. It was a rather unsettling question, actually. Did  
he like himself?  
        "It's  
not that hard a question, Ben." Billy prompted, sounding amused.  
        "Actually, it's  
not a question easily answered with a simple yes, or no. There are aspects  
of myself which I like, and there are aspects of myself I find somewhat  
. . . disturbing."  
        Billy  
chuckled. "Welcome to the human race, Ben, though I have a hard  
time imagining what on earth you could find disturbing about yourself."  
        "I dwell on things,  
especially on things that cannot be changed. And I have a tendency to  
obsession, to self indulgence," Ben said, seriously.  
        A  
deep groove appeared to one side of Billy's mouth. "You wouldn't  
know self indulgence if it bit you on the ass. Mmm, now there's a thought."  
The dimple grew into a grin.  
        Ben  
blushed. Billy chuckled. Across the park a sudden shriek brought both  
their head's around, tensely, until they ascertained that the cry had  
been one of delight as a young girl barreled down a slide, not one of  
fear or pain. Billy shook his head.  
        "Man,  
that'd take some getting used to."  
        "Would  
you like to?"  
        "Like  
to what?"  
        "Get  
used to it."  
        "To  
what? Biting you on the ass?" Billy asked guilelessly.  
        Ben  
shot him a quelling glance. "You know what I meant."  
        Billy  
shifted, slouched more, stuck his feet out in front of himself, and winced  
as he hyperextended his injured knee. "Ow. Fuck. Uh . . . yeah.  
I mean, maybe. Not sure. But I think I would. I mean, it was like  
getting hit in the head with a brick at first. Like, 'Shit. I have  
a kid.' And the first instinct is to run the hell away because it's  
pretty damned scary. But then, it kind of gets into your head, and after  
awhile it's all you can think about. Speaking of obsessing," he  
finished wryly.  
        "A  
child is a big responsibility."  
        "Yeah.  
I know. But you know what's weird, I always was kind of the responsible  
one, believe it or not. I mean Joe supposedly was, but half the time  
he'd forget so I'd end up doing whatever needed doing, especially if  
it involved paying bills. He was good at the up-front stuff, I was better  
at the details." He sighed suddenly. "Oh hell, who am I kidding?  
Paying bills has nothing to do with this, except that it's about all  
I'm good for. What the fuck do I have to offer? Money, that's about  
it, and hell, my life's not exactly stable, I can't even be sure of that.  
She has a mom, she has a guy she probably thinks is her dad. She doesn't  
need me, she's got a family. All I'd be doing is screwing things up."  
        "You're an honest  
and caring man, and you have a kind and loving heart to offer,"  
Ben said quietly. "You have yourself. Those are not small things.  
I think she deserves to know you. I think you deserve to know her."  
        Billy stared at his feet,  
silent. From the line of his mouth Ben thought he might be fighting  
tears. He wondered for a moment if he ought to reach out, to offer comfort,  
or if Billy would rather have the moment to himself, to recover. It  
was easier that way, Ben knew. Dief bounded up suddenly, put his muzzle  
on Billy's thigh and whined softly. Billy gave a slightly watery-sounding  
chuckle and ruffled the thick white fur.  
        "Hey,  
Dief, ready to go?"  
        Dief  
sat down. On Billy's feet. The chuckle got less watery.  
        "He's  
about as subtle as you are, Ben."  
        "I'm  
extremely subtle," Ben said, slightly offended.  
        "Yeah.  
Like playing guitar with a hammer. But I'll let it go because nobody  
ever said I had a kind heart before."  
        "Really?  
It seems quite clear to me, I'm surprised no one else sees it in you."  
        "Well, it's not  
exactly what you want to have a rep for, in my biz. People will take  
advantage of you." He slid his glasses down on his nose and batted  
his eyelashes at Ben. "So, how come you're not trying?"  
        "You're attempting  
to change the subject," Ben said sternly.  
        Billy  
rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yeah. So much for that. Stubborn,  
aren't you?"  
        "So  
I'm told," Ben allowed with a slight smile.  
        "Look.  
It's just not a good idea. Like I said, she already has a family."  
        "You're her family  
too. Her father. It's important, for a child to know their father.  
I didn't really get to know mine until after his death."  
        Billy  
looked at him, puzzled, and Ben realized that had sounded a little odd.  
"He was neither a demonstrative nor communicative man, and our relationship  
was somewhat. . . distant. But he left me his journals and I feel I've  
come to know him much better through them than I ever did when he was  
still alive. I just don't think it would be right for you to deprive  
your child of the chance to know you, or to deprive yourself of the chance  
to know her. I understand and admire your unwillingness to disrupt the  
family, but surely some accommodation could be made between you and her  
mother, which would allow you that opportunity."  
        Billy  
frowned. "Am I stressing you out again?"  
        Ben  
blinked. "Excuse me?"  
        "You're  
getting kind of-- what did you call it, oh yeah, 'bombastic,' again."  
        "Ah." Ben  
thought about it, and frowned. "No, it's not you. It's the situation.  
I'm sorry. I guess I didn't realize how strongly I felt about it. Really,  
it's none of my business. I spoke out of turn."  
        "No,  
you didn't. You said what you felt. There's nothing wrong with that.  
And you're right. I mean, Mary was always pretty cool, maybe she'd be  
okay with letting me meet Billie, get to know her. I think maybe she  
wanted me to figure it out, after the concert. I mean, why else would  
Mary have brought her? It's not really the kind of place you take a  
kid that age for fun, though she did okay. Pipe made this goofy sort  
of 'Mr. Potatohead' sandwich thing, and Billie thought that was cool."  
        He shifted, glanced over  
at the playground again, then looked back at Fraser. "That's when  
I found out her name. And that's what made me start wondering if she  
could be mine, and the way I figured it, yeah, the age was right for  
her to have been born after our last tour, and I did . . . " Billy  
shot a sheepish look at Ben and shook his head. "Anyway, before  
I could really think it through, Mary took off. She was talking with  
John and all the sudden she looks at me really weird, and she takes off,  
dragging the husband and the kid with her. Never did find out why.  
But I guess it couldn't hurt to try." He drew in a deep breath,  
and let it out again. "Thanks. That feels . . . better, somehow.  
Guess I just hadn't faced up to how much it was bothering me."  
        "I often find things  
affect me in a similar manner."  
        "Like  
Ray?"  
        Ben felt  
himself tense, and tried to force himself to stop. It wasn't very successful.  
He nodded. "Yes, apparently. Perhaps, as you say, I haven't faced  
up to the reality."  
        "Oh,  
I think you've faced up to the reality of it, only maybe it's not really  
reality. It's what you think reality is. What you expect it to be.  
But reality is rarely what we think it is." He stopped, looking  
thoughtful. "You know, I think there's a lyric in there somewhere.  
Anyway, why do you think he wouldn't be interested?"  
        "He's  
still in love with his ex-wife."  
        "Is  
he? I know lots of guys who act like that, but what they're really in  
love with is the idea of being in love."  
        Ben  
shook his head. "You haven't seen him around her. They were together  
for a very long time, since they were practically children. He truly  
does love her."  
        "But  
he's divorced. He can't have her. Eventually he's going to get past  
that. What else?"  
        "He's  
an officer of the law."  
        "So  
are you. Next?"  
        "He's  
currently on holiday in Acapulco, with a woman."  
        "Ahhh.  
Now we're getting somewhere. That bothers you?"  
        "N.  
. . " Ben began then he sighed. "Yes."  
        Billy  
flashed him a quick, encouraging smile. "Good, no lying here.  
Why? If you think things are so impossible, then why would that bother  
you? If you really believed that, it wouldn't bother you, because you'd  
know there was no chance of anything happening, so if it bothers you  
then somewhere in there . . ." Billy reached out to touch a fingertip  
to Ben's chest. "You think there's a chance, which probably means  
that you're getting vibes off him that he might be interested."  
        "Vibes? What precisely  
is a 'vibe?'"  
        "You  
know what a vibe is, you're just stalling. Admit it. You know what  
it means and I'm right."  
        Ben  
stared off into the distance. This was certainly a conversation he hadn't  
expected to ever have. With anyone. He wondered what it was about Billy  
that provoked such confidences. Still, it was already begun, he could  
hardly back out now. He sighed. "Some of our interactions had  
become quite intensely personal. There seemed to be, well, I suppose  
I had allowed myself to think we were. . . closer, of late. That there  
was a 'vibe' as you put it. That's why it was such a shock when he suddenly  
announced he was going on this trip."  
        "Mmmhmm.  
Tell me something. Have you ever talked sex with him? I don't mean  
like talking nasty, I doubt if you could do that if your life depended  
on it. I mean have you ever just talked about the fact that you swing  
both ways?"  
        Ben  
frowned. "Swing both ways?"  
        "That  
you're bi, or whatever you are."  
        "No,  
of course not! I wouldn't want him to think . . ."  
        "I  
was wondering if that might be it. I mean, I was confused because you  
pretty much flat out told me, right off the bat, so I thought you must  
be pretty open about it, but the more I listen, the more I think that  
was a fluke, right? Just something about me, or the timing, or the situation.  
You've never admitted this to a soul before, have you?"  
        Ben  
shook his head. "No. Never."  
        "So,  
did you ever stop to think that maybe he's doing exactly the same thing  
you're doing? Freaking out because he wants you, and he thinks you're  
straight?"  
        "No."  
        "Well, maybe you  
should."  
        "I  
don't think that's a good idea. I really don't."  
        Billy  
sighed. "Yeah, I can see that. Well, just think about it, okay?  
I can see you're not the snap decision type, so let it perk for awhile."  
        Ben frowned. "I  
suspect it will do that whether or not I want it to, now that you've  
put the idea in my head."  
        A  
broad grin answered that. "Good."  
        They  
sat in silence for a few moments, then Billy spoke again, sounding a  
little amused.  
        "So,  
I'm thinking maybe you might want to go back to the motel after all,  
get some rest?"  
        Ben  
straightened, snapping fully awake. "I'm fine."  
        Billy  
snorted. "Yeah. Sure. You always fall asleep within thirty seconds  
of ending a conversation. Would it help if I promised I wouldn't take  
advantage of you? Hell, you can even leave me somewhere else and just  
go back by yourself, if you're really worried."  
        "I  
assure you I have no concerns regarding your conduct," Ben said,  
worried that somehow he'd given Billy that idea.  
        "You  
don't? Well shit, I must be doing something seriously wrong here. Maybe  
I should just kiss you . . ." He leaned toward Ben, who drew back,  
eyes widening in surprise and dismay. Billy sighed and rolled his eyes,  
throwing his hands up in disgust. "Jesus, Ben! It was a joke!  
Lighten up, you really need to learn to relax."  
        "If  
I relax any more, I'm afraid I'll be asleep."  
        "So,  
what's wrong with that? I can think of worse things to do on a sunny  
park bench."  
        "We  
need to go."  
        "We  
do? How come? We have an appointment or something you didn't tell me  
about?"  
        "Not  
precisely, but we need to go to the local branch of your bank and arrange  
to get you a new ATM card. Also, the clinic will be open by now and  
it's rarely very busy this early."  
        "Clinic?"  
Billy stared at him, concerned. "You sick?"  
        "No.  
You told the inspector you wanted to have your knee seen to. Don't you  
remember?"  
        "Oh  
that. Look, I only told her that to get you out of there. I don't need  
to see a doctor."  
        "I'm  
afraid you're going to have to."  
        "Why?"  
        "Because I won't  
lie to my superior."  
        "Why  
not? I did."  
        "Because  
I don't lie."  
        "Never?"  
        "Well, only in the  
line of duty."  
        "Uh  
hunh. Right. You know what's really scary? I believe you. Okay, fine,  
I'll go to the clinic so you don't have to lie, but it's dumb. I'm fine."  
        "I'd feel better  
about it."  
        "I  
said I'd go, didn't I? You won't even have to use the handcuffs, though  
come to think of it that might be fun . . ." he winked, and planted  
a hand against the bench to lever himself a little awkwardly to his feet.  
"I'm up, let's get it over with."

* * *  


        "You happy now?"  
Billy asked, limping stiffly toward the entrance to the motel, his left  
leg encased from lower thigh to ankle in a velcro-wrapped brace. "I  
get to play my next gig looking like a total geek."  
        "Well,  
happy is a subjective concept. . . "  
        "Oh  
cut it out, I think you do that just to aggravate people. You know,  
I never knew Mounties had groupies. Or is it just you?"  
        Ben  
frowned. "Please, they're medical professionals and won't thank  
you for calling them 'groupies.' It's very undignified."  
        "So  
is salivating over a guy in public. I take it you go to the old Urgent  
Care a lot? I mean, they know you by name." He grinned. "'Oooh,  
Constable Fraser! Are you hurt? Can we help you?'" Billy pitched  
his voice high, and with stereotypically feminine inflections. "Jesus,  
I never saw so many disappointed faces in my life as when they figured  
out it was me that needed help, not you. I think they were looking forward  
to getting you into one of those backless smock-things that nurses like  
so much."  
        Ben  
opened the door for Billy and waited for him to step through, delaying  
the moment as long as possible before speaking,. "There you are.  
If we receive any of your replacement credit cards or documents today,  
I'll bring them over for you after work."  
        Billy  
stopped moving forward and turned so sharply he nearly lost his balance,  
grace negated by the brace. "After work?" he asked, frowning.  
        "I really ought  
to be getting back to work."  
        Billy  
crossed his arms and glowered. "Did I or did I not get your services  
for the entire day?"  
        "Well,  
I realize it was just a ploy and as you are just going to go to sleep,  
I thought I should use that time to better adv. . ."  
        "You're  
damned right I'm gonna sleep," Billy interrupted. "So are  
you. And since I know you won't if you go back to the Consulate, it's  
going to have to be here." He paused a moment, and a hint of uncertainty  
crossed his face, then he went on. "Look, if it's me, if you don't  
want to sleep with me that's okay, hell, I'll sit and wait in the lobby  
if you want, but you are going to get some rest."  
        Ben  
surreptitiously glanced around and was relieved to see that there was  
no one within earshot. "It's not that," he said quietly.  
"I simply don't feel right about it. And besides, I have Diefenbaker  
with me, and I'm sure they won't allow him inside."  
        "Want  
to make a bet?"  
        "I  
don't gamble."  
        "Oh  
for fuck's sake, Ben! Get the stick out of your ass! I can think of  
lots more fun things to do with it. Your ass, that is, not the stick.  
Come on, Dief."  
        He  
turned and walked on into the lobby of the motel. Diefenbaker hesitated  
for a moment, then he gave a low whine and trotted after Billy. Ben,  
still trying to decide whether he should be offended, stood frozen in  
place as Billy limped up to the desk and proceeded to converse with the  
young man behind it. Something changed hands, then Billy was heading  
for the elevator, Dief at his heels. Another moment, a button was pushed,  
and the elevator door slid open. Billy stepped in, so did Dief. Billy  
looked across the lobby at him, lifted an eyebrow and sent him a lopsided  
smirk as the door glided closed again. For a moment longer Ben stood  
immobile, then his gaze swept the lobby, found the stairs, and he was  
moving toward that doorway with quick determination. He thought he heard  
a soft chuckle from the desk clerk, but ignored it, taking the stairs  
two at a time.  
        He  
was waiting at the door to Billy's room as the other man and a certain  
willful wolf came around the corner. Billy stopped when he saw him,  
and a smile flashed into being, bright and hot. He didn't speak, just  
moved forward again, hand slipping into a pocket to retrieve the key-card,  
easing it into the lock, then out again as he leaned on the door, shoving  
it inward. Dief pushed past them, disappearing into the dimness of the  
room as Billy stepped inside. Ben followed, closely. Very closely.  
        In a move that surprised  
even himself, he pushed the door closed behind them, hard, found himself  
pushing Billy up against the wall, a hand curving itself over the scant  
curve of his buttock. Billy put his hands against the wall and arched  
back, a seraphic smile on his face, faintly limned by a line of light  
from beneath the door, and another from a narrow gap in the curtains  
at the window.  
        "Oh  
yeah," Billy sighed. "Knew it was in there."  
        Too  
aroused to wonder what the other man meant, Ben put his face into the  
curve of Billy's shoulder and breathed in deeply. The scent went to  
his head like a drug. He licked the smooth skin of his neck, just below  
where close-trimmed blond hair roughened it. The salt-and-sweet taste  
of sweat and flesh reminded him of the previous night, of that single  
taste, of wanting more. Reminded him of that morning, water coursing  
over him as he knelt between wide-braced feet, his hands gripping narrow  
hips, so many fantasies come to truth. His hands slid around that slim  
form, met in front, moved downward, finding the firm bulge between tense  
thighs, palm stroking, shaping, until hips pushed into his touch, animal,  
rhythmic. A soft sound of discomfort told him he wasn't the only one  
whose clothing was far too confining, too rough against sensitive skin.  
That could be corrected.  
        Finding  
the button, slipping it, easing the zipper down with care, somehow still  
cognizant of the lack of protection for the warm, eager flesh below.  
Ben pushed denim down his thighs, though the brace kept Billy's jeans  
from sliding as far down as he wanted them to. Still, it was enough  
to give his hands access, one cupping the thickening shaft, protecting  
it from the cold, hard wall; the other hand moving over those spare buttocks,  
sliding between, searching, finding. Billy made a soft sound, and reached  
up to his shirt pocket, fumbling for a moment. An odd sound that made  
Ben listen for a repeat, which came a moment later, followed by another  
sound, something small falling to the carpet. Then one of Billy's hands  
moved back behind himself, fingers twining with Ben's, cool and slick.  
        Not questioning,  
understanding the need for that, he freed his hand from Billy's and resumed  
his caress, spreading the slickness, then pressing entry. Billy moaned,  
his hips bucking into Ben's other hand with each thrust. Daring, determined,  
he added another finger, shifted them to a different angle. A gasp.  
A shudder. He did that again. Again. A moan. Again. His other hand  
wrapped firmly around Billy's fully erect penis.  
        "Oh  
fuck, yeah. Yeah." Billy's breathing was ragged, his voice smoky.  
Slippery fingers fumbled with Ben's waistband, awkward, unable to gain  
purchase. A soft curse. "Damn it. Ben, come on."  
        Momentarily  
releasing Billy's erection, Ben quickly opened his own jeans, one-handed,  
trying to get them down far enough to make this possible. Somehow he  
managed it. He nudged into place, sliding against his slick palm on  
the way, then pressing. Their close-matched height made them a perfect  
fit, and Billy pushed back against, him, body starting to yield, only  
to pull away suddenly.  
        "Damn,  
wait, wait."  
        Another  
fumble, this time a different pocket, a hollow, papery sound, a crinkle.  
A twist of head, more crinkling, then something was being urged into  
his hand. Something small, circular, flexible. Oh yes. He'd forgotten.  
Not as practiced as Billy, Ben had to use both hands to slide the latex  
sheath over his own erection, then it was in place, and he was forging  
inward again. Distant heat and overwhelming closeness surrounded him,  
welcoming him. He shuddered, and thrust hard. Billy moaned again, pushing  
back, facilitating the penetration.  
        "Oh  
god, oh god, that's good. So good. Come on Ben, harder, damn it!"  
        Yes. That was what he  
wanted. Hard. Fast. He put his hands on the wall and used that leverage  
to give himself more power. Billy braced back against his thrusts, solid,  
strong, nothing delicate about him, despite his slender frame. There  
was music in their coming together, a brash chord of appetite, sensual  
refrain of gasps, moans, and the occasional grunt, the driving percussion  
of flesh on flesh. Ben put all his weight on one hand, moving his other  
hand, the still-slick one, down over bare, flat belly, down into damp,  
rough silk, found the velvet heat there, not quite as hard as before,  
but rapidly filling as Ben's hand curved around the length of flesh,  
pumping in a motion he knew well, though until last night he had never  
touched another man this way.  
        Billy  
tried to spread his legs wider, trying not to let Ben's greater weight  
and powerful thrusts push him into the wall, barely managing as Ben drove  
hard into him, over and over.  
        "Oh  
fuck! Oh fuck that feels so great!' Billy panted, his head dropping  
forward, light gleaming faintly on the back of his neck.  
        Ben  
leaned forward to drag his mouth across it, feeling the slick of sweat  
on his lips, tasting it, he opened his mouth, fit his teeth over the  
taut line of muscle, not biting, just holding. Billy groaned and shuddered,  
and the silky heat spilling over Ben's fingers combined with the contractions  
around him and the frank eroticism of the moment to trigger Ben's release  
as well. He moaned, the pleasure almost painful, utterly delicious,  
so free, so hot. Trembling, he stilled, letting the sensations ebb slowly,  
feeling matching tremors in the body so intimately linked to his own.  
        His heartbeat had  
begun to slow when Billy sighed, and lifted his head. His fingers pressed  
breifly against the base of Ben's cock as he held the condom in place  
while shifting his hips forward, pulling free with a little intake of  
breath that wasn't quite a gasp. A moment later he slipped the condom  
free and tossed it into the bathroom trash can, only feet away. Ben  
reached out and wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him back  
against him. Billy let him, relaxing against him, and they stood so  
for a moment, then Billy's fingers encountered Ben's rather messy ones  
and he chuckled.  
        "Christ,  
Ben, even if you do spend too much time with the wolf, you have some  
real natural talent there."  
        Ben  
felt himself blushing, and was glad it was too dark in the room for that  
to be seen.  
        "Come  
on, I'm tired and I want out of my clothes. Let's clean up and go to  
bed but you're going to have to help me with the brace."  
        Ben  
nodded and let go, and they set about doing just that. Billy shared  
the bathroom without a second thought, as if it were perfectly normal,  
which Ben supposed it might be to some people, but it made him somewhat  
self-conscious. After removing his own clothes and carefully hanging  
them in the closet, Ben helped Billy remove the brace, and undress.  
As soon as he'd finished putting away Billy's clothes, he found himself  
dragged into bed and curled up against. The room was a neutral temperature  
that let them touch without getting sweaty.  
        "You  
feel good," Billy said sleepily. "Comfortable. 'Night."  
        He lifted his head  
and put his lips against Ben's in a surprisingly sweet, un-urgent kiss,  
and Ben lost himself in that for a moment, in the soft press of silky  
flesh, the languid swipe of tongue, the soft suckle of his lower lip.  
Finally Billy moved away, and put his head down on Ben's shoulder. Ben  
shifted a little so the heavy weight of Billy's head was more comfortably  
against the hollow of his shoulder, and hesitantly stroked the soft blond  
hair, tousled today, rather than spiked, no doubt due to the lack of  
styling products available in the motel bathroom. Distinctly flatter  
than it had been the previous night, it made Billy seem somehow younger,  
and more vulnerable, though he knew they were only a year apart in age.  
He felt Billy's breathing even out and deepen, and knew he was asleep.  
His own eyelids were heavy, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he  
slept himself, though his brain still insisted on thinking. It was sometimes  
a distressing habit.  
        He  
thought about how pleasant it was to lie there in a real bed, against  
crisp, clean sheets, with a warm, and willing, and apparently sane partner.  
He closed his eyes, replaying the wantonness of his actions, a little  
shocked, a little aroused, despite having just reached completion. He  
smiled, wondering how Billy would react to that, but knowing he wouldn't  
wake him to find out. He let his fingers stroke idly up the long line  
of one arm, over the surprisingly muscular shoulder, onto the bony plane  
of back. It felt good, to touch, to be touched. Something he normally  
chose to forget.  
        A  
part of him wanted nothing more than to stay in this place, in this moment,  
to indulge every long-denied appetite. Fantasies of spending hours learning  
this unashamedly hedonistic man surged through him. He could easily  
fall into that obsessive exploration of delight. At heart he was as  
much a sensualist as Billy, possibly more so. He knew that about himself,  
had learned it long ago in the arms of a woman who had betrayed him.  
And in the painful aftermath of that experience he had also learned how  
to lock that part of himself away, to hide it from the world, even from  
himself most of the time.  
        The  
powers of pleasure and desire were frighteningly strong. It was the  
one chink in his armor, or at least the largest. This time, though,  
his eyes were open, not blinded with illusions. He could differentiate  
desire and passion from love. He liked Billy, a surprising amount really,  
considering how different they were, but he did not love him. That emotion  
was reserved for a rough-edged Chicago cop with a quick smile and uncertain  
eyes.  
        It had struck  
him like a blow, the first time they had met, the moment those long arms  
had closed around him and to his shock he realized he wanted them to  
stay there. It had taken some time to admit that to himself, but he  
had owned up to it at last. No matter that it was a hopeless love, it  
was still love. It was that simple. He wondered what Ray would think,  
if he confessed that. If he told him, as Billy kept urging. He let  
himself imagine that Ray's lucent blue eyes would light, that the quick  
smile would blossom, that he would reach out, and let himself be held,  
like this. Just like this. Sleep pulled at him, drawing him down, still  
smiling, into dreams.  


* * *  


  
        The smell of food woke  
him, mouth already watering as the rich, heavy aroma of steak teased  
his nose. He sorted out the sweet, almost doughy scent of baked potato,  
the acrid essence of vinegar. He opened his eyes, looked around, disoriented,  
saw a shape silhouetted against the doorway, heard Billy's voice saying  
'thank you' to someone. A moment later the door closed, and Billy walked  
back into the main room, carrying a tray with three covered dishes on  
it. He set them down on the desk, turned, and grinned when he saw Ben  
watching him.  
        "Hey,  
Dief, look, Sleeping Beauty's finally awake."  
        Diefenbaker's  
head lifted over the edge of the bed, and he whuffed softly, chiding  
Ben for sloth. Ben levered himself onto his elbows, looking around for  
the clock. He was shocked to see it was after six.  
        "Good  
lord! Why didn't you wake me?" he asked, sitting up, trying to  
decide if his first move should be to call the inspector and apologize,  
or simply get dressed, head back to the Consulate and try to do it in  
person, if she hadn't already gone home, which she probably had.  
        "You obviously needed  
the sleep. Bet you don't usually get much, do you? You have that overworked  
look around your eyes. Anyway it's cool. I called the Consulate, talked  
to Turnbull. You know, that boy's a little odd. Anyway, I told him  
the doc gave me pain pills and I wanted you to watch me in case I had  
a bad reaction. He said the bosslady was cool with that."  
        " _Turnbull_  
said that?" Ben asked incredulously, strongly suspecting Billy  
was lying to him.  
        "Well,  
actually, I think he said 'Inspector Thatcher said to tell you she understands  
and hopes you enjoy a complete recovery.' Or something like that."  
        "Ah, well, then,  
that sounds more likely."  
        "Here,  
get dressed, dinner's ready."  
        Billy  
tossed something at him, Ben caught the soft object, found it was his  
sweatpants. He set about turning them right-side out as Billy took the  
cover off one plate and headed for the bathroom with it.  
        "C'mon  
Dief. Dinner for you too."  
        Dief  
shot to his feet, following instantly. Ben hastily pulled on the sweats  
and got into the bathroom just in time to see Dief pick up a whole steak  
from a plate on the floor. The wolf shot him a look that plainly said  
he would have a fight on his hands if he tried to take the meat away,  
and Ben sighed.  
        "You  
shouldn't have done that. It's far too expensive, and too rich."  
        Billy grinned. "Hey,  
I figured it would hurt his feelings if we got steak and he didn't.  
Now come on. I'm hungry too. Never got breakfast or lunch today. My  
metabolism doesn't like that."  
          
Ben imagined it probably did not. Not as thin as he was. He helped  
Billy move the desk over to the foot of the bed so they could sit and  
eat, which they did, in a companionable silence. It had been some time  
since he'd eaten so well, and once he'd finished the salad and started  
on the steak, Ben felt rather like Diefenbaker. An image of himself  
crouching over a plate on the floor with a steak clenched in his teeth  
made him chuckle. Billy raised his eyebrows, taking a long swallow from  
a brown bottle that smelled, oddly, of anise and sarsparilla, not yeast  
and hops. Root beer? A concession to his own abstention? Interesting.  
He wondered if Billy was always so chameleonic.  
        "Well?"  
Billy prompted, putting the bottle down. "What's funny?"  
        "I was just thinking  
that I understand Dief's distress at the thought of having his steak  
taken away from him. I don't usually eat this well."  
        "Jesus,  
not only do they make you wear silly pants, sleep on a cot in your office,  
and stand outside in all weather playing statue, but they don't even  
pay you enough to feed yourself? Sounds like you ought to start a Mountie  
union or something."  
        "Oh,  
no. My pay is more than adequate, I rarely spend all of it. I suppose  
I'm simply used to pizza and Chinese." It occurred to him suddenly,  
why he was used to those things, and he smiled a little at the realization.  
He usually ate pizza and Chinese because he usually ate with Ray, and  
those were Ray's staple meals. Billy tilted his head a little to one  
side, regarding him thoughtfully.  
        "Your  
face just lit up like a candle. You were thinking of him, weren't you?"  
        Ben felt guilty. He  
hadn't meant to be so obvious. It wasn't very considerate to be thinking  
of Ray when he was with Billy. "I'm sor . . ."  
        "No.  
Don't be. You've been up front with me. I appreciate that. Don't stop  
now. We both know this ends here. At least, this part of it does.  
I like you, Ben. Weird as that probably sounds from a freak like me,  
but I do."  
        "I  
like you as well, Billy, very much. And not just. . . well, you know."  
        Billy grinned. "Yeah.  
I do. And me too. Though that 'you know' stuff was pretty damned good.  
But I'd like to think maybe we can be friends."  
        "As  
would I."  
        "Good.  
Greatness. Done deal." Billy looked at him for a moment, solemnly,  
then he leaned over and kissed him.  
        His  
mouth tasted of licorice, and his lips were slightly slick, probably  
butter from the potato. Ben slid his mouth across that smooth, slippery  
surface, licked at the sweetness of his tongue, and then deepened the  
kiss, hands coming up to hold him still. It might end here, but it was  
still here and he had the rest of the night, and there was one more thing  
he wanted, no, needed, to know. Billy pushed him back onto the bed,  
mouth still moving on his own, lips and teeth, and tongue . . . God,  
he could kiss! That mouth was sinful. He slid his arms around the other  
man, pulled him closer, wantonly capturing one thigh between his own,  
and arching against it. He could feel Billy start to smile against his  
lips, and then he was breaking the kiss, finally, with a last soft suck  
at his tongue.  
        "So,  
I'm kind of getting a hint here that you might be up for some more .  
. . 'you know,'" Billy teased, huskily.  
        "You  
are a remarkably perceptive individual," Ben said, a little surprised  
at how husky his own voice sounded.  
        "Mmm,  
that's me. Perceptive. Sensitive New Age Guy and all that."  
        "That might be overstating  
the case."  
        "Just  
a little," Billy chuckled. His hand lifted to trace a line down  
Ben's chest, stopping to circle a nipple which rose instantly. He leaned  
down, flicked his tongue across it, then lifted his head, though not  
his hand. "Got something specific in mind?" he asked casually,  
fingers idly stroking across his sternum. "'Cause it seems like  
you're a man with a mission."  
        Remarkably  
perceptive was an understatement. Ben knew he was blushing again, as  
that hand moved down his torso, a finger tracing teasingly along the  
waistband of the sweatpants. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the  
courage to speak, and felt a tongue trace along the line of his jaw,  
up toward his ear.  
        "I'd  
say that's a yes," Billy whispered, his tongue stealing out to tickle  
his ear, lips closing briefly around an earlobe, teeth nipping gently,  
then letting go. "What do you want? We've done what I wanted,  
your turn now."  
        Ben  
nodded, relieved to not have to say it. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly  
it."  
        A moment  
of quiet. Then a soft chuckle. "Oh. I get it. You sure?"  
        He nodded again. "Yes."  
        More quiet. A long quiet.  
He opened his eyes, found Billy looking into his eyes, his expression  
faintly troubled, a hint of cloud in his clear gaze. He let his own  
eyes ask the question. Billy sighed.  
        "You  
really want to do that?" he said, uncertainly.  
        Ben  
gazed back at him evenly. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"  
        Faint color flowed across  
angular cheekbones, eyelashes dropped to shutter embarrassed eyes. "Well,  
I thought you might want to save that for someone really special."  
        Ben reached out and put  
his hand behind Billy's head, pulled him gently forward until their lips  
met. It was a gentle kiss, accepting, warm. He drew back. "You  
are special."  
        That  
faint color deepened, Billy looked away. "You know what I meant."  
        "I know. I also  
don't believe that will ever happen. And even if it did, I would want  
this now. I need to know. Just like you needed to know."  
        Billy  
sighed again, and looked back at him, wryly amused. "Sneaky bastard,  
aren't you? I like that in a person." He lowered his head and  
their lips met again, not so gentle this time.  
        Ben  
responded in kind, so hungry, not for food, but for touch. He hardly  
knew himself this way, so needy. He did a better job of hiding from  
himself than he'd realized. That couldn't be healthy. It was definitely  
time to accept certain truths about himself, time to allow himself to  
be who he was, not the idealized picture of who he was that he'd always  
tried to live up to. He'd set himself an impossible standard.  
        Billy  
lifted his mouth, and sat back, frowning a little. "Hey. Where'd  
you go?"  
        Ben  
looked up into those too-observant eyes, and smiled. "Just thinking  
again. As you said, this works much better if I don't do that."  
He sat up and slid his hands beneath the soft, loose t-shirt Billy wore,  
pushing it up. Billy flashed a grin and lifted his arms so Ben could  
pull it off, and as soon as it was gone, his hands were at his waist,  
unbuttoning and unzipping.  
        "Isn't  
that uncomfortable?" Ben asked as he noticed yet again that the  
other man wore nothing beneath the denim.  
        Billy  
snorted. "No, Mr. Starched Boxers, it's not. At least not when  
I don't have somebody making me hard all the time. Besides, I'd have  
to give up my Rock Star membership if I stopped going commando. It's  
a union rule, you know." He grinned and winked, methodically ripping  
open the velcro strips that held the brace in place over his jeans, then  
removing it and dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. "There.  
Feel like a Borg or something in that, but I got the hang of it now.  
He stood up and started to push his opened jeans down, then stopped thoughtfully,  
looking around. A moment later he was over by the door, where there  
were still handprints on the wall. Ben flushed, not with embarrassment,  
but with arousal as he remembered that wild coupling. Billy stooped,  
picked something up off the floor and turned, grinning. "Here.  
Present for you."  
        He  
tossed it, he seemed to like throwing things. Ben caught it and looked  
at the small bottle curiously, reading the label. Understanding dawned  
suddenly, and his face got warmer. Oh. Then he frowned, and looked  
up. "Where did you get this?" They'd been together all day,  
and he hadn't seen Billy make any purchases like this.  
        Billy's  
grin widened as he went to the closet and fished in his shirt pocket,  
removing several strips of condom packets which he waved in Ben's direction.  
"Same place I got these, the pharmacy at the Urgent Care place.  
Don't worry, your virginal reputation is secure, they'll never know they  
weren't for me. Figured if you ever stopped being so fucking pessimistic  
you might find a use for them someday."  
        Ben  
smiled. "I have a use for them now."  
        Billy  
grinned. "True." Returning to the bedside, he dropped the  
condoms on the nightstand, then turned around and slid his jeans to mid-thigh.  
That done, he sat down and started awkwardly trying to work them the  
rest of the way off, his injury making the task harder.  
        Ben  
put down his 'present' and rolled out of bed and knelt at his feet to  
help Billy. As he slipped the fabric free, he was reminded of the previous  
night, that awkward intimacy, that abortive desire. So much easier now,  
so much freer. A weight had lifted with the admission of this aspect  
of himself. He was a man, with a man's desires, a man's needs. There  
was nothing wrong with that. Nothing evil, or bad. It simply was.  
And those needs and desires were very strong right now.  
        He  
reached out and put his hands on Billy's hips, pulling him forward a  
little, using his torso to wedge those surprisingly strong thighs apart.  
He glanced up to see a slow smile spreading over Billy's face, his eyes  
sleepy-lidded but hot behind deceptively innocent lashes. He tried not  
to think of how much like this Ray would look, under similar circumstances,  
but it was a difficult thing. He'd so often imagined this, with Ray,  
yet had never dared let himself imagine letting his gaze slide lower,  
from face, to chest, to . . . groin. Beautiful. Not unlike the rest  
of him, long, lean, taut. He reached forward, took that length in his  
hand, intently focused, watching the response, the swelling, the way  
the loose folds of foreskin drew back as he hardened more, the gleam  
of light on moisture at the tip. He leaned down, lips parting, and just  
as he had that morning, Billy put his own hand over Ben's shielding himself  
from Ben's lips.  
        "Uh-unh,  
sorry. Keep it safe, Ben."  
        He'd  
forgotten. Again. He didn't know which was more irritating, the fact  
that he kept getting so involved he forgot such a basic precaution, or  
the fact that he couldn't indulge his favored sense with Billy. Annoyed,  
Ben made a sound to express it.  
        Billy  
laughed. "You sound like the wolf."  
        He  
felt himself blushing. "I'm sorry, I should be able to remember  
something that important for more than thirty seconds," he confessed.  
        "You're just not  
used to needing to. Which is, actually, kind of hard to believe, but  
I do. It took me a while to get into the habit, and I know it's not  
as fun, believe me, but I got enough to be sorry for in my life without  
risking that." Suddenly he grinned, a flash of brilliance. "Besides,  
that way you still got something saved for . . . somebody else. Not  
fair for me to take it all."  
        The  
wash of heat through him as he realized what Billy meant nearly made  
him gasp. Ben closed his eyes against the thought of doing this with  
Ray, of tasting him, so intimately, nothing between them. How could  
Billy invoke that so casually? Didn't it bother him to know that Ben  
couldn't help but make that comparison? As if in answer, Billy reached  
down and put his hand under Ben's chin, tilting his head back, leaning  
down to fuse their mouths in a long, hot kiss. Wrapping his arms around  
that slender torso, he felt the hard length of Billy's erection against  
his stomach, and reached between them to caress it with a strong, steady  
stroke until Billy broke the kiss, gasping.  
        "God,  
Ben. . . either stop now, or get used to disappointment."  
        Ben  
stopped, immediately. Billy laughed softly. "Guess that tells  
me a thing or two. Stand up for a second, yeah, there . . ."  
        He tugged at the drawstring  
of Ben's sweats and loosened it, then slipped them down, and Ben kicked  
them off. He started to pick them up, only to find his wrist imprisoned  
by Billy's fingers. His grip was strong, startlingly so, for such a  
narrow hand.  
        "Leave  
'em and get that sweet ass of yours into bed. I am not waiting around  
while you play maid."  
        Ben  
looked into Billy's face, a little surprised by his vehemence, saw the  
humor sparking his gaze, along with determination, and relaxed. He gave  
a slightly sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not very  
good at spontaneity."  
        "Is  
that so?" Billy queried, sliding back onto the still unmade bed,  
a slight smile lurking around the corners of his mouth.  
        He  
patted the bed next to him, and Ben eased himself down next to him, a  
little nervously. He wanted this, but it was unknown territory, and  
he usually preferred to equip himself with map, compass, and guidebook  
for that sort of exploration.  
        "So.  
You don't do spontaneous? Guess you want to know the game plan, then?"  
        Ben frowned, puzzled.  
"The 'game plan?'"  
        Billy's  
smile got a little wider. "Yeah. I tell you what I'm going to  
do, so you'll know what's going to happen already."  
        Ben  
was suspicious. He could tell from Billy's expression that there was  
a catch here, something he was missing. "Well . . . I, ah . . ."  
        "First I'm going  
to kiss you again, so come here."  
        Well,  
that was not something he cared to miss, so he complied, letting Billy  
push him down against the pillows and lean down to fuse their mouths.  
At least he could taste this, and it was luscious, warm, and wet and  
hot, familiar flavors of their meal mingled with the less-familiar but  
equally sumptuous taste of Billy's mouth. He nibbled at the lip that  
moved on his own, swept his tongue across sharp, hard teeth, only to  
have it met with the slick slide of other tongue, then sucked softly.  
He was settling into that cadence, arching in an echo against the body  
above his own, when suddenly it was gone. He wasn't sure, but he thought  
he whimpered.  
        "So,"  
Billy whispered, trailing kisses up his jaw. "Next, I'm going to  
lick your throat . . ." He demonstrated. "Then your ear."  
        Soft, wet tongue  
tracing the convolutions of the pinnae.  
        "Then  
I'm going to bite your shoulder."  
        Teeth  
closing on the solid curve of muscle there, not hard, but enough to make  
him gasp.  
        "And  
taste that spot right under your arm. . ."  
        His  
hand was caught, his arm extended above his head, lips coming down in  
a place that made him jump at first, and laugh, and then he wasn't laughing,  
he was moaning as tongue found the aforementioned spot and suckled, and  
licked. Even as he writhed under that anticipated, yet unexpected assault,  
he thought about the scent and the texture and the taste and he wanted  
to push Billy down, to do the same to him, to bury his face in that valley  
and let that scent surround him, primitive and rich, the swirling steam  
of pheromone-laden sweat. He struggled a little, trying to carry out  
his desire. Billy's weight pinned him down, though if he really fought  
he could overcome him. However, he didn't want to fight. A little breathlessly  
he waited for that sultry voice to continue, anticipating the words as  
much as the actions that followed. Finally it came, and the voice was  
a caress all its own.  
        "Maybe  
a nipple now?" Billy bent his head over Ben's chest.  
        Ben  
tensed, waiting, breath held; saw Billy's eyes flash up, strangely golden  
as they caught the light, full of fire, and amusement. Then that brief  
glimpse was gone, and hot mouth was closing over astonishingly sensitive  
skin. A moan broke free, low, and raw. Suction increased, as did the  
sound of his own voice, wordless and unrestrained. Ben couldn't seem  
to stop himself, as that tongue flicked over hardened flesh, and he imagined  
it somewhere else, moving over even harder flesh. Then the sweet heat  
and wet disappeared, and he moaned his protest over that as well. He  
didn't know himself. He was a stranger, stretched naked on an unknown  
bed, aching, trembling, yielding, waiting. Learning.  
        "Now  
I'm going to touch you," Billy said, lifting his head a little,  
then lowering it again to resume that maddening suction as his hand came  
down on Ben's chest on the other side, skimming lightly over that nipple,  
then stroking downward, slowly, the calluses on his fingertips slightly  
rough against skin unused to human touch. Down his ribs, across his stomach,  
a finger circling his navel before moving on, down the faint line of  
dark hair that started there, down to where it widened, became a thick  
frame for his genitals. His fingers teased the curling thatch there,  
raking through it softly, never touching his penis. Ben trembled with  
anticipation, barely breathing. Billy lifted his head.  
        "I'm  
going to put my hand on your cock," he said, but didn't follow that  
statement with an action, just continued to tease the dark curls. Ben  
waited, breath held, until his vision was starting to fade and his pulse  
was pounding, and finally he couldn't bear the tease any longer. He  
reached down, caught Billy's hand in his and put it where he needed it,  
simultaneously dragging air into his lungs in a deep gasp. Billy laughed  
softly as his hand closed around the hard shaft, stroking.  
        "Sorry.  
Didn't mean to be mean. Couldn't resist. Had to see if you'd do anything."  
He shifted, moving his mouth back to Ben's to kiss him again, soft, light,  
frustrating kisses, all the while caressing Ben's cock with a firm, steady  
rhythm. "Won't do it again," he said in between kisses. Then  
suddenly both the stroking and the kisses stopped, leaving Ben bereft  
of sensation. He opened his eyes, saw Billy frowning thoughtfully. Instantly  
he worried.  
        "Is  
something wrong?"  
        Billy  
looked up, shook his head. "No, just thinking about logistics."  
        Ben blinked. "Logistics?"  
        "Mmmhmm. Like,  
how to do this when I can't use my knee. But I got it." He shifted  
onto his side, and patted the bed in front of him. "C'mere."  
        Ben moved toward him,  
and Billy shook his head.  
        "Nope,  
other way. Back to front."  
        Of  
course. Silly, not to have thought of that. He settled in next to Billy,  
a little tentatively. He heard the rustle of one of those packets being  
opened, and shivered in anticipation, imagining those fingers smoothing  
the latex down over hard flesh. A moment later Billy pulled him back  
against him, looping one long arm around his waist.  
        "Yeah,  
better. Now, where'd you put your present?"  
        Ben  
groped on the bed until he found where he'd dropped it.  
        "Open  
it."  
        Ben fumbled  
with it a moment, then figured it out and flipped the cap up with his  
thumb. Billy held out his hand.  
        "Fingertips,  
just a little. And I mean little."  
        Ben  
tipped the bottle, drizzling a ridiculously small amount onto Billy's  
fingers. "Are you sure?"  
        "Trust  
me."  
        Damn.  
That again. Well, he'd already resolved to do so, right? He nodded,  
eyeing those long, slim fingers, imagining them . . . he shivered, biting  
his lip to try to regain control. He was not going to come just from  
 _thinking_ about this. He wasn't, and that was that. With a long,  
deep breath, he found a modicum of restraint, just as Billy slid a thigh  
between his own and lifted, and then those fingers were on him, slick  
and cool, astonishingly slick. Just for a moment his mind went off on  
a tangent about the composition and uses of whatever it was in the bottle,  
and then the stroking became more deliberate and coherent thought completely  
fled. A fingertip slipped inside, just a little, and he shuddered and  
moaned, amazed once more by just how good it felt. Surely a great deal  
had been left out of his education on things sexual. Learning, again.  
        Shallow strokes,  
circling, dipping in deeper, little by little, a tease. Ben shifted  
one knee up, rolled his hips forward a little trying to make it easier,  
trying to say what he wanted with just his body. Apparently that silent  
plea was heard, and understood. He gasped and panted as his body adjusted  
to a new sensation; now two fingers slid and stroked inside him. It  
was difficult at first, but then it eased, and eased, and there was no  
discomfort, only the smooth glide of those fingers searching, finding.  
        He moaned, a guttural,  
incoherent sound of pure pleasure. So good, so good. His erection had  
flagged a little with the addition of that second finger, but he didn't  
care. Each time those fingers found that _place_ inside him, that  
incredibly delightful place, he thought he would go over the edge but  
somehow he didn't. It was a different kind of pleasure from the stimulation  
of penis, or the spasmodic explosion of orgasm, but not a lesser pleasure  
at all. And he wanted more. Wanted harder, deeper, fuller.  
        His  
moan was answered by a wordless sound of assent, pressure easing, then  
returning. Different this time, so different as he was breached by that  
latex-sheathed shaft, almost too much. He bit back a whimper, knowing  
it would make Billy stop, and he couldn't bear that, while he could bear  
this. This was everything he'd wanted, that 'more' he'd instinctively  
needed. Needed.  
        The  
pressure kept up, steady, and he remembered Billy pushing back against  
him when he'd done this, so he tried that, and his body yielded more  
easily, until they were fully fused. Billy's arm wrapped around his  
waist, hand splayed across his belly, and he became aware that the other  
man was trembling, a fine, barely-perceptible shiver. The price of control.  
That knowledge surged through him, as erotic as the penetration, the  
feel of sweat-slicked skin all along his back, the rapid movement of  
his belly as he panted, too, the soft crush of pubic hair against his  
buttocks, the firm, hard arch of thigh between his own.  
        "You  
okay?" Billy breathed.  
        Ben  
nodded. No words possible. More than okay. The discomfort was mostly  
gone now, he felt so strangely relaxed, yet tense with anticipation.  
        "So, I can  
. . . move?"  
        "Oh,  
please!" he said, shocked by the sound of his own voice, almost  
a sob.  
        Those slim  
hips bucked forward, rolled back.  
        Ben  
gasped. "Oh, God!"  
        Billy  
froze. "Good or bad, Ben?"  
        "Good!"  
he choked out.  
        "Yes,"  
Billy echoed fervently. "So damned good." He moved, his hips  
settling into a fluid glide that gave a whole new meaning to rapture.  
        Ben braced himself  
against the bed to give resistance to the rhythm. Billy's hand slid  
down from Ben's stomach to his cock, fingers settling around it, warm  
and slick, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts that got easier, and  
deeper, and better each time. Fire, inside, outside, all over, heat  
that burned but didn't hurt. He closed his eyes, pumped hard into that  
hand, back against the welcome invasion, felt himself shattering, walls  
coming down. He shuddered, clamped his teeth shut on a scream, and came,  
harder and longer than he'd ever come in his life. He was still recovering  
from that when Billy moaned a soft expletive against his ear, and shuddered,  
going still.  
        Lying  
there in another man's arms, his body ticking like hot metal cooling  
in the shadows, Ben felt earthy, and natural in a way he hadn't in a  
very long time. He absorbed the unusual feeling of connection with his  
body, something that had been lacking-- and had sorely missed-- somewhere  
below the level of conscious thought. How had he gotten so out of tune  
with himself? He felt a strangely sweet satisfaction in the knowledge  
that the gratification had been mutual, rather than the perfunctory safety-valve  
of self-stimulation which only made him feel more lonely, and more discordant.  
There was no sense of that now, just a pleasant lassitude.  
        Billy  
sighed finally, and slipped a hand between them, Ben could feel his knuckles  
against his buttocks, then he was easing his hips back and the feeling  
that had not begun to bloom into full discomfort intensified, then eased,  
and he was alone within his body again. A moment of aloneness, of chill  
as air reached the sweat on his skin, bringing with it knowledge of who  
he was, what he was, where he was. He sighed as well. He heard the  
distinctive sound of a tissue being removed from a box, then seconds  
later Billy's warmth returned, an arm looped loosely across his waist,  
hand spread on his chest, thumb moving in an idle caress.  
        "You  
okay?" Billy asked quietly, inflection different this time, not  
asking about the physical, or at least, not just that.  
        Ben  
nodded, then somehow knew Billy needed words. "Yes. Tha. . ."  
Remembering suddenly Billy's reaction to being thanked, he amended his  
sentence. "That was delightful."  
        "Love  
the way you talk, Ben. Most guys would say it was good, it was great,  
it was awesome. Not you. You talk like a book reads. Bet you'd be a  
hell of a lyricist. But I don't mean was it good, that way. Hell, I  
could tell that without asking, it's kind of easy to tell, with a guy.  
I meant in here," he splayed his hand over the center of Ben's chest.  
"You don't do this meaningless sex stuff like I do. I know that.  
Kind of feel like I pushed you into it."  
        Oh  
dear. Ben pushed back against Billy until he rolled onto his back and  
Ben could turn over and look into his face. "You're right, I don't,"  
he said in utter seriousness. "But there was nothing meaningless  
about it. As you said, there's nothing wrong with comfort. And I meant  
what I said, I needed this. More than I realized. You've helped me  
understand things about myself which I very much needed to know. And,"  
he said, smiling, ". . . you've taught me things I may need to know  
someday."  
        Billy  
looked intently into his eyes for a moment, and then his gaze warmed,  
his mouth began to curve. "Oh yeah? Going to use those new skills  
on your Ray?"  
        Ben  
gave him a look, and Billy chuckled. "I know, I know. It's never  
going to happen. But just in case it does, you've got to be prepared,  
right?"  
        Ben  
allowed himself to smile a little. "Being prepared is the best  
way to assure a positive outcome."  
        Billy  
laughed out loud. "Christ, you really were a boy scout, weren't  
you? Ben, I know I said it before, but I really mean it, they fucking  
broke the mold when they made you. I wish I had . . ."  
        Whatever  
he'd wished was interrupted by the phone ringing. It startled both of  
them, and they had a brief battle over who was going to answer it before  
Billy glared at Ben, who was so used to answering phones at the Consulate  
that it was automatic to reach for it.  
        "It's  
my room, Ben."  
        "Yes,  
right you are," Ben said, quickly withdrawing his hand.  
        Billy  
picked up. "Yeah?" He growled into the handset, his tone  
nothing like the warm, almost purring voice of moments earlier. "Well  
fucking hallelujah, it's the mythical Ed. I was wondering when you were  
going to get around to checking messages." There was a pause as  
Billy listened, then he flopped back against the bed with a huff. "What  
do you mean where the hell am I? I'm in Chicago, where did you think  
you were calling, Mars?" Pause. "No, I'm here because I was  
in Edmonton trying to clean up the whole mess after Joe fucked off, when  
I get a message to get my ass to Chicago for a gig on Wednesday. I manage  
to make it, only to find the gig is off and nobody bothered to tell me.  
Then to top off my month, I get mugged."  
        He  
listened again, then shook his head. "No way. They got my passport,  
cards, everything. Got a new bank card today, with some vouching from  
the Consulate," he winked at Ben, ". . . but probably won't  
get the other replacements until tomorrow. And since they get a little  
cranky at the airport if you try to get on a plane with a guitar case  
and no ID, I'm not even going to try. I'll probably be able to get out  
sometime tomorrow, that would be in time for some quick rehearsing before  
the Coliseum show on Saturday, but you guys are going to have to spring  
for the ticket. I'm not paying my own way after you already made me  
waste a trip, and no, the frequent flyer miles don't make up for it so  
don't give me that crap. You can do one of those e-ticket things and  
I won't even need to pick it up."  
        Ben  
listened, fascinated by this tougher side of Billy, more take-charge,  
less patient. This, then, was the persona he presented to the world  
at large, the mask which hid the more vulnerable person behind it. Ben  
had long been aware that he had his own masks, had always assumed everyone  
did, but it was always fascinating to see it demonstrated so clearly.  
He'd been permitted to see glimpses of that Ray, of the innate gentleness  
hidden behind the 'tough cop' facade he affected, just as he'd been privileged  
to encounter Billy's hidden self first, his inner self laid bare by the  
circumstances in which they'd met.  
        It  
suddenly occurred to him that he was listening to Billy making plans  
to leave. He tensed for a moment, half-expecting that to hurt, but it  
didn't. While he would in some ways regret his going, there was no ache  
inside at that thought, as there was with Ray. He relaxed again, a little  
surprised, and pleased, that he had managed to finally allow himself  
a freedom without half-destroying himself in the process. Perhaps there  
was hope, after all, that he could have a halfway normal life someday.  
A life that at least included intimacy, if not the love he had once assumed  
would come to him. Of course, he did have that, it just wasn't . . .  
reciprocated. Not the way he wished it could be. He stifled a sigh,  
and settled back to listen to Billy argue with 'Ed.'

* * *  


  
        "You didn't have  
to bring me all the way to the gate, you know," Billy said, grinning  
as he watched the other travelers in the concourse eye Ben's uniform,  
and the Stetson tucked beneath his arm. "They probably think I'm  
a criminal you're escorting."  
        Ben  
stopped in his tracks, staring at Billy, stricken. "Good heavens!  
I never thought of that! I certainly wouldn't want to give that impression."  
        Billy chuckled. "It  
was a joke, Ben. I'm sure they can all see that I'm a 'National Treasure  
of Canada' or something and as such deserve a uniformed Mountie escort."  
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned evilly. "Hey, you  
know, now that you've had me, does that make me a mount-ee, too?"  
        Ben gave him a severe  
look. "That's quite enough of that."  
        Billy  
laughed, his face lighting, his eyes full of wicked mirth. "What,  
no sense of humor about the name? I mean, really, it's got to be tough.  
You've got to know everybody tells jokes about that. Except, shouldn't  
the horse be the mountie? Or is there something they don't tell us about  
all you guys? Do you all have to be gay, as well as gorgeous?"  
        "Billy!" Ben  
protested, feeling his face heat. "Someone may overhear you!"  
        "So? Notice you  
didn't deny it!"  
        "I  
didn't want to dignify it with a denial. It's just . . . silly."  
        "So it was. Look,"  
Billy said, suddenly serious. "I have to thank you, Ben I really  
do. Not sure where I was headed, but it wasn't good. You made me take  
a step back, look at things, understand what happened, and think about  
what I want. If you ever need anything I can help with, you let me know.  
I mean that."  
        Ben  
nodded. "I know, but you've done much the same for me. I hope  
you don't feel a sense of obligation . . ."  
        Billy  
scowled. "Fuck that, Ben. I don't do anything out of obligation.  
That's the best way to get me running the other way, fast. You should  
know that."  
        Ben  
smiled sheepishly. "I do, really. I'm just . . ."  
        "Yeah,  
I know. You are, just. Just about pretty fucking perfect, but you don't  
have a clue, and you don't think you deserve even the most basic things  
most of us take for granted. You need to work on that."  
        Ben  
shrugged. "It's not in my nature."  
        "I  
suspect there's a lot of things in your nature you don't like to think  
are there. But that's for you to sort out, not me, though if you need  
someone to bounce things off of, I'm there. You got my number, right?"  
        Ben nodded, his hand  
going to his cartridge case, where the paper Billy had pressed on him  
was stored, along with the other items Billy had gifted him with, which  
he needed to find a private place to store soon. "I have it. So,  
have you decided what you're going to do about Billie?"  
        Billy  
sighed, raked a hand through his spiked hair, and made a face. "Sort  
of. I guess I'm going to take your advice and get in touch with Mary,  
see if we can make some sort of arrangements so I can meet her for real.  
Don't know if I'll go so far as to say I'm her dad, that might be kind  
of confusing to her. Still, I want to be involved, want to know her."  
        "I think you'll  
be glad you did."  
        Billy  
smiled. "Hope so, Ben. I really do. What about you? You going  
to tell Ray?"  
        Ben's  
smile faded. "No."  
        Billy  
sighed again. "Shit. Ben, you don't understand, do you? Even  
if the guy didn't already play for both teams before you met, after being  
around you for awhile, I bet he's at least thinking about it now. I don't  
know why or how, but for a boy scout you just radiate fuckability. I'm  
surprised you don't get tripped and beaten to the floor on a regular  
basis. So take advantage of that, for god's sake! Get him alone, maybe  
a beer or two to relax him, and go for it. See what he says. Bet you'll  
be surprised."  
        "Are  
you suggesting that I get my partner inebriated and then attempt to seduce  
him?"  
        "Hey,  
whatever works . . . no, don't get all righteous on me, that was a joke.  
A bad one, I know. But you know, even if you can't tell him the whole  
truth and nothing but the truth, at least let him know you care, okay?  
People don't do enough of that. Maybe if I'd told Joe, it might've helped."  
        "Billy, don't do  
that," Ben said quietly. "Might I suggest that seeing a grief  
counselor when you get back to Los Angeles could be useful for you?"  
        "No, Ben. I'm okay.  
Really. It's just that those 'if only's' are going to haunt me for a  
long time."  
        Ben  
nodded solemnly. "Yes, I suspect they will. Still, I wish you  
would consider it. You have a lot of issues to work through."  
        "Oh, Jesus. Issues.  
Ben, if I had a penny for every 'issue' I've got, I'd be rich. But I'll  
think about it, okay? Seriously, not just to satisfy you." He  
grinned suddenly, that flash of startling charm. "Besides, got  
better ways of satisfying you. You know, it's too bad I didn't get to  
meet Ray. I'd like to see if there's really as much of a resemblance  
as you say. When's he due back?"  
        Ben  
colored. "I . . . ah . . . I'm not entirely certain. I didn't  
want to pry into his personal business."  
        "Translation,  
you were peeved and sulking so you pretended you didn't want to know,  
right?"  
        "I  
never sulk," Ben protested, offended.  
        "That's  
a shame, because you've sure as hell got the mouth for it. Speaking  
of which, the cool thing about being Canadian is that we can do shit  
like this and get away with it. Close your eyes and pretend I'm Québécois."  
He put down his guitar case and enveloped Ben in a hug, then kissed him  
on first one cheek, then the other, then full on the mouth, though it  
was only a brief touch, nothing like the unhurried, sensual explorations  
they'd indulged in previously. Ben hugged him back, briefly, then Billy's  
arms slipped away, and he was stepping back, grinning. "So, mon  
ami, we meet sometime back home for poutine, right?" he asked, in  
a terrible faux-French accent.  
        Ben  
tried to look severe, difficult to manage as he was blushing, and smiling  
as well. "Do you have any idea how many calories and how much cholesterol  
is in a serving of poutine?"  
        "No,  
and don't tell me, either. They're calling my flight. Got to go. Keep  
in touch, okay?"  
        Ben  
sensed a very real request there, and nodded. "I shall. And you  
will let me know how things go with your daughter, won't you?"  
        Billy nodded. "Absolutely.  
Goodbye, Ben, and thank you."  
        "Thank  
you, Billy."  
        Ben  
stood for a moment and watched Billy limp through the door to the boarding  
ramp, then he turned. He had work to catch up on, and he needed to visit  
the 27th and find out when Ray was supposed to return. At  
least he had an excuse for asking, since he was, after all, the Canadian  
liaison to the district. He really ought to know when his partner was  
returning, for purely professional reasons, of course. Smiling a little,  
he turned away from the gate and headed swiftly back toward the main  
terminal, pondering the concept of synchronicity.

 

* * * Finis * * *  


  
comments to: Kellie 


End file.
